In the Wind
by Jopar
Summary: Ranger's moral code clashes with his contracted special ops orders. Add in a sexy, very mysterious woman and things will never be the same.
1. Part 1 Prelude

Obviously, I don't own any of the wonderful Evanovich characters, but then you already know that or you wouldn't be reading this. I hope you enjoy...I will update as I have time.

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**_Part One_**

Prelude

Clara choked back a sob. Ever since she left the shop, she felt a horrible piercing ache in her heart. She told the woman that there must be some mistake. Charles wasn't like that. He was good, kind, generous, and, above all else, loyal to her and only her. Too bad that wasn't true. She hated doing laundry these days since it almost always netted some type of a note…usually perfumed and written on pastel paper. _But a murderer_, she thought, _surely the woman was wrong about that. Still, there was that large reddish-brown stain on his favorite golf shirt…the stain that he swore was ketchup. Even so, she remembered thinking at the time it sure was a lot of ketchup._

Finally pulling into the garage, Clara charged through the kitchen door. If Charles was hiding anything, she knew exactly where to look…his locked desk drawer. Grabbing a large chef's knife from the knife block on her way through the kitchen, she headed for the desk. Like always, the mysterious drawer was locked.

After what seemed like forever, she felt the lock give way. Actually, she had intended to be careful…to leave no mark, but the longer it took, the more anxious she got. Now the drawer was marred beyond repair. Pulling it out, she stared at the photos laying on the top…women naked, skin with bleeding slashes, intermixed with what looked like burn marks. "It must have something to do with his job," she whispered and actually believed that until the photos shifted. She saw a picture of her husband with a short thin blade seemingly in the act of producing those very cuts. Toward the back of the drawer, Clara found a video tape.

Shaking, she pushed it into the only video player in the house…the player in Charles' office. Less than a minute into the tape Clara snapped it off, and ran for the bathroom. Breathing heavily, she tried to control herself. "I have to call someone," she whispered, "someone clear-headed…someone I trust. Dennis Tomlinson," she added, the most sensible, trustworthy man she knew and also by chance a lawyer.

Still sitting in the bathroom, she reached in her pocket for her smart phone and searched for Dennis Tomlinson's office. Between tears Clara filled him in—careful not to leave anything out: the multiple perfumed notes, the blood on Charles' shirt, the tarot reading…and, of course, the photos and video.

"Clara, do you trust me?" Dennis asked. "Really trust me?"

"Of course, I wouldn't have called you otherwise."

"Okay, I know that you're frightened, but I want you to leave this with me. Just sit tight…don't go anywhere or do anything. I'll take care of everything."

"Will you call the police?"

"I said that I will take care of everything. Now you just stay there…try to relax…everything will be fine."

"Okay."

…

Dennis Tomlinson shook his head. In his opinion Charles was a real screw up, and he always knew that one day that would catch-up with them. It looked like today was the day. Opening his hidden and therefore, completely private safe, he removed a small, tattered, black notebook. Flipping through the pages, he found the number he wanted. Part of him hated to betray Clara's trust…still he had received no money. Technically, she wasn't even a client, and even if Charles was a nut-case, the fact was—if Charles went down, they all went down.

After a few rings, his call was answered.

"Charles, Dennis Tomlinson here…we have a concern," he began much as he would begin any other business call.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter One

Ranger looked around the control room trying to remember why he came down stairs from his private apartment. He felt like hell and probably looked worst. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see his men watching…even exchanging gestures between themselves. On a normal day, he would have bit their heads off just to maintain discipline, but today—the truth was—he didn't have the energy. "I'll be in my office," he said quietly and left.

Tank followed him cautiously. He watched Ranger drop into a dark leather chair behind the heavy desk. Closing the door behind him, Tank considered the best way to approach the grumpy sleepy lion…a lion that could easily take Tank down despite the big man's advanced skill set. After all, he still had the bruises from their last training session less than a week ago and certainly didn't plan to add _pissed off Ranger _wounds to the collection.

His deliberations were interrupted by Ella carrying a tray. A large bowl of Ranger's favorite lemon-pepper chicken salad sat in the middle surrounded by all sorts of healthy embellishments. Ranger glanced up and then waved her away.

Ella looked pointed at Tank and indicated the door with her eyes. Tank followed her out of the office, through the control room, and into the hall.

"He has not slept all week, I know I clean his apartment and now he won't eat. You must do something."

"I know," Tank answered softly and turned back toward the office. On the way to Ranger's office, Hal shoved mail addressed to Ranger in Tank's hands.

"Coward," Tank whispered.

"Damn Straight. I'm married with kids. I don't want anything to do with him right now."

Quietly opening the door, Tank looked in. Ranger was still sitting at his desk staring out in space. His vision shifted to Tank.

"Yes?"

"Mail," said Tank placing the envelopes on the desk.

"And?"

"It'll keep," Tank muttered and left.

Ranger let out a sigh. He knew that he would have to talk with Tank sometime soon. Tank, as his oldest friend, would be worried—and as second in command and currently in charge of the control room, he would want to know why Ranger wasn't sleeping or even eating. _Hell,_ Ranger thought, _I want to know why…maybe then I could fix it._

He shuffled idly through the mail, abruptly coming to a pale blue envelope. It was addressed to _Ricardo Manoso. _On a good day the pale blue envelope would have attracted a few whispers or at least some sidewise glances from Ranger's men. This wasn't a good day. Everyone in the control room was _walking on eggshells, _and that's not easy for men who weigh-in close to 250 pounds, even if it is pure muscle.

Ranger looked at the envelope. He considered taking it to Ron for a safety check…but his gut instinct was _not dangerous…not dangerous like that anyway. _Removing a V-42 Stiletto from its hiding place under his desk, he slipped its thin blade under the envelope flap. The knife held particular meaning for those in Special Ops, and he felt better just holding it.

Inside the envelope was a handwritten note:

_I can make you sleep._

_ -A. Ames_

Ranger inhaled deeply. The note was scented with some kind of clean herbal scent. He inhaled again and drifted into a sound sleep.

After about an hour of deep sleep, Ranger woke. The scented note lay close by but seemed to have lost much of its punch. He picked up the note and noticed more information.

_Satisfaction Guaranteed._ _225 Whitehorse Ave._

Ranger stared at the swirly writing. He would have sworn that those last two lines weren't there earlier. "Damn," he mumbled, "I have got to get some sleep."

Grabbing his utility belt and a thick leather jacket, he left for 225 Whitehorse.


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

225 Whitehorse was in a predominantly residential section with a few small home based businesses intermixed. Located on a corner, the property was surrounded by a short undulating rock wall. Large trees shadowed the grayish-brown stone walls of the house, and dark green ivy, mixed with mosses of various colors, scaled its thick walls. Both the house and the wall appeared ancient. Ranger pulled through a small opening in the wall and stopped in front of a sign that said _Park Here_.

As he neared the door, for the first time in years Ranger felt unsure of himself. _I have a lot of enemies, _he reflected. _What if….what if? _He grimaced. He did **not** allow himself to indulge in _what if's! What if's were unproductive._ He hesitated at the door.

"Welcome," said a voice behind him.

He turned quickly to discover a small, rather striking young woman with hair so black it shined a deep, almost purple, blue.

"Good, you're right on time. I hate it when people are late…don't you?"

"How did…" Ranger realized that he hadn't seen or even heard anyone. She had simply appeared. "I don't have an appointment," he continued shaking his head.

"Don't you?" The woman paused and cocked her head slightly to one side. Her green eyes looked deeply into his brown ones. "Well—no matter…come in."

He stepped through the door and was transfer into another world. Strands of crystals draped around the room—their light dancing in patterns on the wall. Clusters of rock formations sat on dark wooden shelves—their colors and sparkles adding to the magical display of the crystals. Other shelves contained colored bottles of various shapes and sizes interspaced with worn leather clad books. A small round table sat in the middle of the room and was draped with a shiny purple cloth edged in black fringe. A small ornately carved wooden chest rested in the middle of the table.

"Maybe later," said the woman looking around. "For now, we have work to do." She led Ranger down the hall and into a small room. Shelves of bottles lined the room and in the center was a massage table. "Now introductions first…I'm Ashlyn Ames. It is nice to meet you Ricardo Manoso."

"I go by Ranger," he managed to mumble.

"Of course you do…too bad really, I do think your second name Carlos is quite nice. Now I have mixing to do, and you have undressing to do."

"Excuse me?"

"Strip…everything off. I can get you a towel if you want, but you're not particularly shy."

"No."

"Face down first."

Ranger stripped quickly, but was careful to drop his utility belt close by in case he needed it. He settled face down on the table.

"Comfortable?" Ashlyn asked as she pushed his utility belt closer to the table and directly below Ranger's hands…in his easy reach.

"Yeah."

Ranger smelled a sweet clean herbal scent. "This is a mixture of Sweet Fennel, Roman Chamomile, Clary Sage, and Grapefruit. It's a good relaxant—a good oil to start with," Ashlyn told him as she lightly rubbed his shoulders and back with the mixture.

As he felt himself relax, he felt her touch get a bit harder rubbing out the years of stress his muscles had endured. Gradually, he drifted into a deep sleep.

…

Ranger woke twelve hours later in a soft bed. A peaceful breeze blew in a window and puffed out the shear white curtain. His clothes and utility belt lay on a chair near the bed. He shook his head. He could hardly remember rolling over on the massage table and honestly had no idea how he ended up in the bed. A quick look around the room told him that this was Ashlyn's room…her bed. Hearing kitchen noises, he dressed quickly and followed the sounds.

"Good morning," Ashlyn greeted him and indicated a chair at the kitchen table. Silently, she sat a steaming cup of herbal tea and a bowl of fruit in front of him. "There's rice cakes and hummus on the table. Please help yourself. I'm a vegan, so I don't do eggs and meat things," she explained.

"Sorry I took your bed…I hope you have a comfortable couch."

Ashlyn looked at him amused. "Actually, my couch isn't that comfortable." She leaned close to his ear and whispered, "good thing I didn't sleep there last night." She paused still looking at him. "You don't take up that much room you know."

Ranger stared at her confused.

"I slept in my bed like I always do…with you."

"Oh."

"Did I…?"

"Snore? Oh, God yes," she said eyes twinkling.

He felt himself smiling truly relaxed…that is until his phone vibrated.

"Sorry," he said punching in the code to unlock his phone. He stared at his new text message. It was from his contact in special services, and it was typed in an old code invented by and known only to a few select combatants. Quickly his mind translated the message.

_I'm in the wind…watch your back._

"Everything okay?" asked Ashlyn.

"Yeah, I have to go. How much do I owe you?"

"Not a thing—I'm glad I could help. Here," she added handing him a small bottle of oil. Rub some of that on the back of your neck before bed, and you should have no trouble sleeping.

Ranger looked at her…his instinct told him that she would not accept cash after refusing it. Instead, he reached in his pocket and pulled out a RangeMan business card. Picking up a pen from Ashlyn's kitchen desk, he wrote his personal cell number on the back. "Call me if you need anything." He held out the card to her. When Ashlyn reached for the card, Ranger cupped her hand in his. "I mean it…anything."

Ashlyn watched Ranger walk through the back door. She held his card to her nose and inhaled his scent. For the first time since Clara left, she felt the suffocating anxiety in her heart ease a little. "Mm," she whispered, "strong, protective, resourceful, and street smart…you'll need all those things if we are to survive. It's going to be quite a journey, my friend."


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Ranger looked around the special force's office—an office he visited multiple times in the past. Obviously things had changed. The well worn desk and chair combination that once sat in the center of the room was replaced by a brand new plush office suite—stylishly angled and arranged. The previously bare walls were now papered with pictures of smiling politicians posing for photo ops.

"I see you've noticed my photos," said a voice in the doorway.

Ranger shifted in his chair and watched the speaker move behind the shiny desk. He was medium built and dressed in a perfect, very expensive business suit. The man would probably be more appropriately matched for a magazine cover than an office in a military building.

Rubbing the knot of his tie, the man continued, sweeping his other hand toward the pictures. "My wife, of course, insists that I display them. Me…I'm just a simple man—just military."

_Sure you are, _Ranger thought crossing his arms and leaning back to watch the show, _you're also lying._

"I'm Colonel Reid. You must be Manoso." The Colonel held out a hand. Ranger shook hands with him and noticed a politician's smile plastered on the man's face.

_Yep, politician through and through, _Ranger added this data to his internal on-going assessment.

Reid squirmed under Ranger's gaze.

"I'll get straight to the point," the Colonel said once again reaching for his tie's knot. "Manoso, we need you to take out a known terrorist. I wouldn't ask this for myself—you see, but this one's home grown, you know the worst kind—a real nasty sort."

_He's lying, _thought Ranger. _ He rubs his tie knot whenever he lies…probably rubs his neck if there's no tie._

Taking a seal envelope from his desk drawer, Reid handed it to Ranger. "The name and address is in this…I need," he stopped himself. "We need this done ASAP…understand?"

"Perfectly."

"Do you have any questions?"

"Yeah…what happened to Colonel Berdick?"

"Oh," Reid's hand shot to his tie. "He retired…went to Florida, I think, to be with his grand babies."

"I see." Ranger glanced at a blank space to the side of the desk where Berdick use to keep a picture of his only daughter holding her puppy. It was the last picture Berdick had of the girl; she died soon after it was taken. She was five years old.

"Do you have any more questions?"

Ranger looked at Reid for a few seconds and then shook his head. "No, I'm clear."

"Oh…I almost forgot, I'll be gone for a week on business, so I'm afraid I will be unavailable during that time…but then I'm sure you're use to operating on your own…until then."

"Yeah."

…

As Ranger stepped into the elevator to leave, a large, heavily muscled man joined him. They nodded a greeting. "Be careful," said the man hiding his mouth behind a file folder. "He's a pencil pusher and worst…a lot worst, but those pictures in his office…. He's got deep connections—connections you don't want to mess with."

Ranger gave the man a short, brisk nod and left the building.

…

Back at RangeMan, Ranger leaned back in his desk chair and toyed with Reid's sealed envelope. The man was obviously a liar; there was no telling how much, if any, of Reid's spiel was true. Part of him wanted to toss the envelope, still sealed, in the trash, but he knew that such an action, however gratifying, would accomplish nothing. Like it or not, he was under contract and, thereby, now a part of Reid's scheme; what's more, Reid was not likely to let loose ends dangle—especially now that Ranger was involved. The truth was, if he didn't kill Reid's _known_ _terrorist,_ Reid would just get someone else to do it.

Realizing that he really had no choice, Ranger slit open the envelope. Inside was a plain white index card. A. Derkerstrom, 1891 E. McGalliard Ave. was printed neatly in black letters.

_McGilliard Ave. sounds familiar, _Ranger thought and then realized that McGilliard was Ashlyn's side street. Idly, he hoped that the terrorist wasn't one of her neighbors. Pulling up Google Earth on his laptop, he typed the address into the search box.

Ranger stared at the screen. 1891 E. McGalliard Ave didn't belong to one of Ashlyn's neighbors; it belonged to her. It was the back part of her house—the part she used as a private residence.


	5. Chapter 4

Thank you for your wonderful reviews...I love playing with words until I get them the way I think they should be. It's nice to know someone out there is reading and enjoying my work...THANKS.

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Chapter Four

Ranger pulled his black Porsche 911 Turbo in front of Vinnie's new office and checked his rear view mirror—his tail was still there in a tan Honda Civic. _Good, _he thought, _all according to the plan. _Granted, there were probably better places to lose a tail than Vinnie's office, but the truth was he needed some normalcy. He told Stephanie once that she was good entertainment…what he didn't tell her was that she was the _normal_ in his otherwise hazardous and unstable life. "God," he mumbled, "I think Stephanie Plum is normal—I am screwed."

"Lula, Connie," Ranger said greeting them with a nod.

"Before you ask, I can't tell you where Stephanie is. I'm sworn to secrecy," declared Lula.

"I see."

"Course, if you were to ask and maybe force me to talk…I'm not saying you would, but if you were to do that, then I might have to tell you where she is."

Ranger smiled, "so where is she?"

"She and Joe went looking at rings."

"Smooth," said Connie looking at Lula.

"Well, she told me not to tell him…but she didn't say nothing about him forcing me. Besides everyone knows Stephanie looks at rings two, maybe three times a week. A girl's gotta keep up with the styles."

The corners of Ranger's mouth turned up slightly. He knew all about ring shopping with Stephanie from his time in Hawaii, and he figured Morelli would be lucky to last the day. Slowly, he eased to the window and checked to make sure that the Civic hadn't moved. "Lula I need you to do something for me."

"Sure honey…your place or mine."

Ranger gestured her to him and pulled out a couple of hundred dollar bills. "You see that car, the tan compact across the street. I need you to find out who he is and keep him busy for a while."

"Oh, sugar, you just leave that to Lula," she said stashing the money in her bra and adjusting the girls to show even more cleavage. "Keeping a man busy-that there's something I'm **real** good at."

"I bet."

Connie and Ranger watched Lula strut out the door and over to the Civic. "When she comes back in, find out who it is and text me," Ranger said on his way out the back door. "I'll pick my car up later."

…

"Want me to wait?" asked Tank as he dropped Ranger off a few streets over from Ashlyn's house.

"No, I'll call."

A few minutes later Ranger let himself in Ashlyn's back door. The house was very quiet, and he wondered if she was out. Walking over to the kitchen desk, he looked through her mail. Several envelopes addressed to A. Derkerstrom were among the mix. _Must be her boyfriend, _he thought. _Maybe an ex-boyfriend, _a voice inside him added optimistically. Still holding them, he had a seat at her kitchen table. One way or another he was going to find out the truth…if Ashlyn was in trouble, he was ready to help. If the boyfriend/terrorist showed…well, he was prepared.

While he was waiting, Connie's text message arrived. _The man in the Civic is Allen Dirk, a private investigator. He bragged to Lula he was following a very dangerous man for a bunch of high flyers. Wouldn't tell her who the high flyers were. His car's still here. Must think you're still here. FYI Lula said that his car is full of photography equipment._

_Interesting, _Ranger thought digesting this new information.

About ten minutes later, he heard the front door and a tired looking Ashlyn appeared. She walked straight to a kitchen cabinet and got out two mugs, along with a jar containing an herbal tea mixture. After putting a kettle of water on the stove to heat, she took a chair opposite Ranger.

"God, I thought we'd never catch that kitten."

"Excuse me?"

"Oh, sorry…my neighbor's little girl lost her kitten. She had half the neighborhood looking for him. It turns out he wasn't hard to find—just hard to catch."

"I see. So…who's A. Derkerstrom?"

Ashlyn cringed. "Unfortunately, A. Derkerstrom is me. My father's name was Abner…so when they had a girl, they named me Abna—and Derkerstrom…." She made a face. "After 12 years of school yard teasing, most of it pretty awful, I decided it was time for a name change. I still use A. Derkerstrom as a legal name…it's easier." She looked at him for a second or two. "Did you have something else you wanted to ask?"

"No," he answered not wanting to approach the terrorist issue yet.

The kettle sounded, and Ashlyn got up. "Would you hand me that tray on the desk?"

Ranger returned the mail to the desk and picked up the tray. Tucked underneath the tray, were a couple of Ashlyn's business cards. They read Ashlyn Ames, Tarotist and Psychic, followed by her phone number. _So that was it, _he thought, _she was a tarotist not a terrorist…probably gave Charles a bad reading or, more likely, Charles told her something he shouldn't have. Well, not on my watch, bastard…she doesn't die because of your mistake. _Slipping a card in his pocket, Ranger handed her the tray.

The tea was wonderfully soothing, and Ranger almost forgot about Reid. He looked around the peaceful, bright kitchen—everything was normal…stable. His eyes drifted back to the table, and he realized that Ashlyn was quietly sipping her tea and watching him intently.

"This is my favorite room, too," she said crossing to the desk. She returned to the table with a deck of tarot cards. "I just got these; let's take them for a test drive or should I say test read."

She watched Ranger shift uncomfortably in his chair. "Don't worry, we'll do a quick three card read…no big deal," she added. She handed him the deck. "Shuffle the cards, pick out three and hand them to me one at a time."

He did as instructed.

"The first card represents the past," Ashlyn started. "You handed me the knight of swords. The knight of swords is the warrior…ready for action, focused and committed, but apt to miss important new developments or information in his quest to achieve the goal."

"The second card represents the present. You chose the tower. The tower symbolizes a shattered belief system. Usually the belief is in something that you have learned to depend on, and now you see it as it really is…false. This card advises you to move on and find the truth for yourself."

"The third card represents the future if nothing changes, and you stay in the same pattern." Ashlyn paused as she looked at the card. "You selected the death card. Although it can signify a physical death, usually it means a psychological dying…the idea of letting go of certain things and moving on to others."

She looked at Ranger. "Does any of this make sense?"

"Yeah." He wasn't ready for a show and tell of his life-might never be, and he wondered if she would accept that. "Do you do a lot of readings?"

"Quite a few, actually. People come to me for a variety of reasons…sometimes I can give them good news, encouragement, peace, whatever they need."

"And sometimes?"

Ashlyn closed her eyes and in her mind saw Clara's face. She shook her head slowly. "Sometimes the news is bad…still, if they didn't want to know they wouldn't have had a reading. I tell them what I see, even if it is bad. It's up to them to decide where to go from there."

"I see."

Their conversation was interrupted by Ranger's phone.

"Yo."

It was Tank. "Rafe just got a call, came through the main board, threatening Stephanie if you don't fulfill your obligation."

"Where are you?"

"Outside on Whitehorse."

"I got to go." He got up and walked around the table to Ashlyn. Holding her eyes for a few minutes, he lightly rubbed his hand down the side of her face and gently touched her lips. So far there was no indication that she was in danger, but he was certain that would change. "Call me if you need me."

Ranger walked to Tank and got in the SUV. Although he had already informed Tank somewhat, it was time to bring him up to date. He needed Tank onboard.


	6. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Stephanie Plum stood in the middle of her devastated apartment. She had never seen anything like it before. The apartment was completely destroyed. She didn't have much, but everything she did have was gone. Her whole body felt numb-overcome by it all.

"Girl…who'd you piss-off this time?" asked Lula taking in the scene. "Well, least ways you don't have to worry getting Joyce cooties from your couch anymore. I figure them cooties are all dead. Pretty much nothing could live through this."

_Rex! where is Rex?_ Stephanie wondered in a panic. Her eyes caught a shiny glimmer in the corner. Rex's cage was smashed to pieces, and his wheel flattened entirely down. Red stains dulled the shine of the metal and small bits of fur clung to some of its edges.

Stephanie's eyes filled with tears.

"You want me to call the cops?" asked Lula.

Stephanie nodded unable to speak.

A few minutes later Trenton's finest arrived along with Joe Morelli. "Holy shit," declared Joe coming in the apartment. He crossed to Lula and Stephanie. "Lula said if I didn't get my ass over here, she'd hunt me down and crush my balls." He winced. "Somehow I get the idea that this is serious."

Stephanie choked back a sob, and Lula gestured to Rex's broken cage.

"Ah…Cupcake," Joe whispered pulling her into his arms.

"Move in with me," Joe urged.

"No," said Stephanie pushing away from him and drying her eyes on her shirt. "I'll sleep at Mom and Dad's."

"Cupcake, I really think you should stay with me."

"No."

Their argument was interrupted by Ranger. "She's moving in to RangeMan."

"No, I'm/she's not," Stephanie and Joe answered together.

"I'm staying with my parents."

Ranger looked around. "You want this to happen to your family?"

The color drained from Stephanie's face as she stared at Rex's broken cage.

"She's moving in with me," Joe reiterated.

"You can't protect her."

Morelli moved his coat a bit to flash a glimpse of his gun and next to it—his badge.

Ranger shook his head. "All those times her apartment was compromised, no one ever went after her pet...until now. Morelli, this is out of your weight division—you're not dealing with street thugs. Look around you."

"I'm staying with Joe," announced Stephanie separating the two men.

"Have it your way," said Ranger shaking his head "I assume that you still have my watch?"

She nodded.

"Wear it!"

"So…," Morelli glared at Ranger and then Stephanie, "how did you know about the break in? Did Steph call you?"

"Jake monitors the police scanner to see who has been burglarized…then…well, let's just say, it makes good business sense."

"You leach," growled Joe.

"Whatever." Ranger waved him off. Catching Stephanie by the chin, he turned her to him. "**Wear my watch!**" he ordered and left.

"What's with the watch?" Joe asked.

"It's a GPS that connects me to the RangeMan Control Room. If I push the red button, they come get me."

"Probably a good idea to wear it," said Joe taking another look around. "He's right about one thing, whoever did this is a son of a bitch."

...

Morelli cracked the curtain in his front room and watched the silver Ford Escape. The small SUV followed them from Stephanie's apartment, and now it was on surveillance. He turn his head to look at Stephanie. She was sitting on the floor hugging Bob with her face buried in the dog's fur. The big dog seemed to know that she was upset. He hadn't left her side since they got home.

Not wanting to disturb Stephanie anymore than necessary, he joined her on the floor. "Cupcake," he said. "Who do you know that has a Silver Escape?"

"I don't know, Mrs. Maurizio, I think."

Joe smiled, "that's a silver Rambler, 1950 something. Ford Escapes are newer. Maybe RangeMan has a Silver SUV?"

Stephanie shook her head. "All Ranger's vehicles are black. Is it important?"

Joe wrapped his arms around the Stephanie and Bob combination in front of him. "No...just something for work."

Within the hour Morelli saw the silver Escape leave. It was replaced by a black Porsche 911 Turbo followed by a black Cayenne. After Ranger got out of the Porsche and talked with the SUV for a few minutes, he left. The SUV remained on duty.

Joe breathed a sigh of relief. As much as he still hated Ranger from the Hawaii incident, he was grateful to have RangerMan watching their backs.


	7. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

The next morning Ranger sat at his desk going over the work schedule. Protecting Morelli and Stephanie had consumed a chunk of his work force. A chunk he didn't have, especially if he was going to protect Ashlyn. He put down his pen and pushed back his chair. He hoped that he could convince Ashlyn to move in with him at RangeMan. However, a part of him knew that this wouldn't work. Even RangeMan had its limits. Reid's resources were deep-much deeper than RangeMan's, and he didn't want to expose his men to a battle they couldn't win. Still, Reid assigned Ranger to kill Ashlyn; the Colonel would have no problem assigning someone else to kill them both. In order to keep them alive, Ranger knew that he would have to act...soon.

His thoughts were interrupted by his cell phone. It was Ashlyn.

"Yo, Ashlyn."

"You said to call if I needed you."

"Are you alright?"

"Yes...but can you come here...to my house?

"I'm on my way."

As Ranger got closer to Ashlyn's house, he felt an unfamiliar lump form in his throat. Police cars blocked her driveway and peppered her yard. Hastily parking in front of a neighbor's house, he ran to find her.

He was shocked to see her sitting on a bench next to Joe Morelli. She looked pale and fragile. Morelli's gloved hands held a manila envelope. "What happened?" Ranger demanded as he scooped up Ashlyn and held her tightly.

"Someone broke into her garage, pretty much destroyed her car...well, scratched the outside, cutup the inside, and left these." Joe showed Ranger the envelope. The outside of the envelope said _You're Next Bitch _in neat black ink_. _

Although he was no expert, Ranger suspected that the writing on this envelope matched the index card that Reid gave him.

Morelli opened the flap and pulled out several photos. The pictures showed women cut, bleeding, and burned in various stages of torture.

Ranger cringed. "Did you look at these?" he asked Ashlyn.

She nodded.

"And you're here because of these?" he addressed Morelli.

"Yeah...they appear to connect with some of our more stubborn cases."

"I see." Ranger began moving Ashlyn toward the house.

"I wanted to ask you," Joe joined them and lowered his voice. "Did you send a silver Ford Escape to watch us?"

"No—I don't use silver vehicles. RangeMan's transport consists of a fleet of black Cheyennes, along with the odd toy for me. You saw them no doubt."

"Yeah...thanks," Joe said leaving them to continue his investigation elsewhere.

Ranger got Ashlyn settled at her kitchen table and pulled up a chair next to her. "So what are you not telling the cops?" he asked gently.

"Those photos...I saw one of the women in a vision. I did a reading for a lady—Clara…something, I think her name was. Anyway, the reading wasn't good news. I reached for her hand and touched her wedding ring. I saw a man..." She paused trying to compose herself.

"The man was...?" he prompted holding her both hands in his.

"The man had a thin bladed knife, and he was slicing the woman in shallow cuts—making her bleed. She was terrified."

"Did you see his face?"

"No, only that he seemed to be medium build; he was wearing a golf shirt and some kind of hat. I couldn't see his hair. Should I tell the cops?"

Ranger considered her question. She really had nothing to give them...medium build, golf shirt, and hat wouldn't help an investigation much. Even if she had seen the man's face, her information was from a psychic vision. He doubted that a psychic vision would hold much weight with the police. The only thing telling the cops would accomplish would be to expose Ashlyn. Besides that, thinking of Reid and the writing on the envelope, his gut feeling was that someone higher up than the police was involved and probably wouldn't want this one solved. He knew how the system worked, and he was determined to protect Ashlyn.

"No...for now we keep this between us."

Ashlyn nodded.

...

The next few hours were a whirl of police procedures and questions. Thanks to Joe, Ranger was allowed to stay by Ashlyn's side the entire time. As she sat answering the same questions yet again, Ranger's phone vibrated. The read out said Stephanie.

Without even talking to her, he handed Morelli the phone. "It's for you."

"Cupcake, I'm kind of in the middle of things here." Joe listened for a few minutes. "I'm leaving now."

He looked at Ranger and Ashlyn. "You can go; I'll let you know if I need more. Stephanie and Lula were shot at and run off the road," he added. "They were lucky...this time. Apparently Lula chased them off with a UC-9 Uzi. Where the hell does she get those things?"

"The projects," Ranger said almost smiling amused at how out of touch the cops were.

...

Back at her house, Ashlyn busied herself in the kitchen as Ranger called Tank.

"Yo, Prep _in the wind_...later."

Within the hour Tank appeared at the back door. Setting a duffle bag on the floor, he explained. "I had Ella pack a few things for you...credit cards and money in one side pocket, extra ammo in the other. Hal's still working on the untraceable car. We won't have it until tomorrow."

"I see. I'll let you know if that's a problem. Keep an eye on Morelli and Stephanie. If this pattern holds, they're next. You'll probably have to move them into RangeMan."

"You do know we're full up."

"Yeah, put them in my apartment."

"You sure?"

Looking at Ashlyn, he smiled, "I'm not going to need it."

After Tank left, Ranger had Ashlyn pack a small bag of necessities and put it by the back door. Bringing up Google Earth on her computer, he called her over to him. "Show me which of the houses around you are empty."

She showed him.

"And who would be unlikely to hear someone moving through their backyard."

She pointed to several.

"Any fences or dogs through here?" he asked.

She shook her head.

"Ok...that's our route then. Through these yards, along the fence and out on Arena Dr. There's a medical building here...that's where Tank will leave the car."

"You're staying the night?" Ashlyn asked eyes twinkling.

"Yeah...looks like I'll have to borrow your couch."

"Ok, but it's awfully uncomfortable."

"I have to stay alert," explained Ranger, if I sleep in your bed...," he paused shifting awkwardly and faltering for a word. "Let's just say, I won't be alert."

"Oh, I don't know, I would imagine that parts of you might be very alert," she teased.

Ranger cupped her face in his hands and gently kissed her lips. He felt her lips part, and he deepened the kiss. She melted into him, and there was nothing he wanted more than to carry her into the bedroom and make sweet, excruciatingly slow love...nothing he wanted more, apart from keeping her alive. Pushing her away gently, he whispered, "that's why I have to sleep on the sofa...because as much as I want you...I want you to remain alive more. Our time is coming," he smiled savoring the thought, "you can count on it."


	8. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Joe sat at his table with Stephanie. Every since her apartment was trashed she seemed different. "What's up, Cupcake?"

"Nothing."

"Hey, it's me. The man you ran over with your Dad's car—you can tell me."

"That's just it...everyone I love gets hurt."

"Do I look hurt?" He paused watching her face. "The only thing that could hurt me is losing you," he added reaching for her hand. "Come on, Cupcake let's go to bed. I've got an early morning meeting."

"What's new."

"Yeah, it's a bitch, but I love it."

Stephanie smiled. She knew Joe loved her, but he also loved his job, and she was tired of having a three way relationship. The fact was, she wanted Joe Morelli to herself, even if it was only for a short time.

At precisely 3:33 Joe's smoke detectors went off. The house was full of smoke, and he could see a fire raging downstairs. He jerked Stephanie out of a deep sleep. Going to the window, he flung it open and pushed her against the sill.

"Steph," he yelled, "listen to me, hold on to the trellis and carefully climb down.

His instructions were augmented by Tank outside in the yard. "You can do it—just one hand and foot at a time. Come on, I'm right here...it's not far."

Between the two men, they managed to get a dazed Stephanie to the ground. Joe quickly climbed down after her and was greeted by Bob.

"I heard him and broke a window," Tank explained.

"Thanks." Joe turned back and watched the inferno that was swiftly consuming his down stairs.

"Molotov cocktails," Tank said looking at Morelli, "through the front windows, two maybe more...no wick, probably a professional job."

"The perps?" asked Joe, rapidly assuming cop mode.

"Small silver SUV...no tag."

"Silver Ford Escape?"

"Could be."

Tank's eyes drifted to Stephanie, and he quickly hid a smile. Joe's eyes followed.

"Uh, Cupcake, close your robe."

Stephanie looked down and saw that in her haste she had picked up one of Joe's boxers. It read the Italian Stallion and underneath had a picture of a large penis.

"Interesting combination," remarked Tank looking from the shorts to Steph's lacey push up bra.

Pulling her to him, Joe reached out and closed the robe.

It took the fire department 30 minutes to respond and another 15 minutes to set up the hoses. By that time, the house was burnt to a crisp.

Morelli told the attending police officers about the Molotov cocktails and the silver Escape.

"I'll fill out the report, but as you know we'll have to wait for the Fire Marshall to investigate. We'll probably have his information in a couple of days."

"I can't believe they burned down my fucking house," Joe mumbled draping his arm around Stephanie. "Cupcake, I don't know where we're going to stay."

"You're staying at RangeMan," Tank announced.

"Won't Ranger be there?" Steph asked.

"Ranger is currently occupied elsewhere."

"But...?" she continued looking at Tank.

"Ranger told me to move you and Morelli into RangeMan, and that's what I'm going to do—end of discussion. You can work everything else out with Ella." Tank paused and looked hesitantly at the dog.

"It's okay…he can stay with Marianne Mikulski," Joe offered. "She has a dog, and the two of them play together."

...

By the time they arrived at RangeMan, it was well into the morning. Ella had all Ranger's personal belongings in storage and had added a few new additions to the apartment. A large tray of snacks sat in the kitchen along with a note from Ella. _Call me, Intercom #6, if you need anything, Ella._ The Bvlgari Green Tea Shower Gel was gone. In its place was an expensive collection of various shower gels and soaps in small sample sizes. Vases of fresh flowers were scattered around the rooms. Ranger's apartment looked more like an upscale hotel room than his home, and Stephanie realized that a hotel room was exactly what it had always been. A place for Ranger to use when he needed it, as long as he needed it. It was never his home. She doubted if Ranger really had a home—a place of his own with someone he loved, and she hoped that someday he would find one.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a sigh from Morelli. She walked over and hugged him. "I'm sorry your house burned down."

"Me too, but at least the important things are safe."

"Us?"

"Yeah, us." She watched his eyes turn dark and felt his arms wrap around her.

"You're not going to work?" she whispered.

"No…not today."


	9. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

Ranger laid down his phone. Everything was as planned. Stephanie and Morelli were safe in RangeMan. The untraceable car was parked in RangeMan's garage. He just needed to go over the plan with Ashlyn to make sure she was ready.

"You're up early," Ashlyn greeted him.

"There's been a new development. Remember Detective Morelli?"

"Yes."

"Someone burned down his house last night."

"Is he okay?"

"He's safe; we're not. We leave tonight. Until then we're in hiding—cancel anything on your schedule. Stay inside and stay away from all windows."

By noon Ashlyn was bored and restless. Ranger watched her move from one piece of furniture to another shifting ornaments and then changing them back. He reached for the television remote thinking to occupy her for a bit.

A _Breaking News _headline flashed on the screen.

"This morning a woman's body was found in Sunnybrae Park. She has been identified as Clara Reid. According to our sources, her husband is Colonel Reid with the United States Army. Colonel Reid is currently out of town on business, but has been notified."

Ashlyn covered her mouth with a hand. "Oh, my God," she whispered, eyes wide. "That was her—that was my client, Clara Reid. I remember now. She greeted me with Reid here for a reading. Now she's dead…oh, shit."

Ranger muted the television and pulled her close. After a few minutes he whispered in her ear. "Are you okay…for now?"

She nodded and moved into her bedroom.

Taking out his phone, he called Tank. "Increase security and get the car in place. The situation has worsened."

A few minutes later Ashlyn reappeared. Ranger stared at her. She looked like a whole different woman. Her lacy, white peasant blouse was replaced by a fitted dark-brown jacket over a black t-shirt. Tight black jeans hugged her form and below them black athletic shoes covered her feet. Her previously straight hair now hung in ringlets—an effect that greatly diminished its blue-purple shimmer. Dark glasses hid her remarkable green eyes.

Ranger smiled. Not only did the change appeal to him as an suitable disguise, he found it considerably alluring.

"I take it you approve?" she asked moving her glasses to the top of her head.

"Very much so."

The next hour Ranger worked on his own appearance and went back over the plan in case he missed something. Ashlyn spent the hour in deep meditation.

Suddenly she opened her eyes. "We have to go…right now!" she shouted.

Grabbing both their bags in one hand and Ashlyn's hand in the other, Ranger pulled them through the door. When they reach the far side of Ashlyn's next door neighbor's yard, a loud explosion knock them to the ground. Ranger wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to him. Covering her with his body, he protected her from the debris raining down on them.

After a few minutes, he lifted up a bit and looked at her. "Are you hurt?"

"No."

He jumped to his feet and pulled her up after him. By the time they emerged on Arena, a crowd was forming at the corner of Arena and Whitehorse, and cars were stopped along the street. Ranger maneuvered them across the street and into the Hamilton Physical Therapy parking lot. A tan Toyota Camry waited for them at the far side of the lot. Ranger walked to the passenger side, reached into the wheel well, and pulled out a small box. Inside the box was the key to the car. Quickly opening the car door, he hurried Ashlyn inside.

Ranger immediately pulled through the back of the lot and emerged on Kinter Ave. From Kinter he skirted around the activity and onto interstate 195.

"Here," he said handing her his cell phone. "Text Tank."

"What do you want me to say."

"Just type _OK_."

She did as instructed.

…

In was well into the evening by the time they got to their destination—a suburb off of interstate 95 outside of Newark. He took a remote out of his bag, opened the garage door, and pulled in. "I bought this under an assumed name a long time ago, just in case. We'll be safe here."

He waited for a response and got none.

"Ashlyn?"

She sat completely still and stared out the windshield. Her hands were ice cold and every so often a pronounced tremor ran through her body. Quickly he unlocked the house. Scooping her up, he carried her through the kitchen and into the bedroom. He set her very gently on the bed and stretched out next to her. She pushed into him, and he held her tight. _She's so cold, _he thought.

"You're safe; you're with me. I'm not going to let anything happen to us," he whispered over and over trying to get through to her. Finally, he felt her relax and gradually the warmth began to seep back into her body. "Ashlyn, baby, talk to me."

He got no response.

"Are you upset about your house?"

"I'm just scared," she whispered.

"We're safe here. Actually, they won't start looking for us for another day or two. They'll search for bodies among the explosion debris first and when they don't find any…."

"Then?"

"Then they'll start checking hotels…things like that." _And they'll put pressure on Tank and RangeMan—Stephanie, if they can get to her—_he added to himself. It would be time for the next event soon, and this time the battle was on his turf. _But for now…._

He kissed her neck inhaling the sweet smell of her hair. When he heard her groan and felt her responsive lips, he slipped his hands under her shirt and gently rubbed her stomach moving steady toward her breasts with each stroke. Flipping over top of her, he removed her shirt and undid her jeans. The sight of her perfect silky skin against the black lace bra and panties almost derailed him. Getting his breathing under control, he continued his slow, meticulous seduction. As each garment came off, he used his mouth to fondle the soft skin it previously covered and lingered on his more favored areas. Gradually, he slid her out of the rest of her clothes and in the process lost his own. He covered her delicate body with his and entered her; little by little with each unhurried thrust, he pushed them both over the edge.


	10. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

Joe Morelli knocked quietly on Captain Bradley's office door. "Capt you got a minute.

"Sure," said Bradley with a long sigh. This was precisely the conversation he had been dreading.

"I hear that the Fire Marshall's report on my house is complete."

"Yup…right here," the Captain said waving a folder at Morelli, "according to Robert Crenshaw, acting Fire Marshall, your house burnt down due to a faulty toaster."

"That's impossible…there must be some mistake."

"That's what it says. Go argue with Crenshaw."

"But Capt…my damn toaster broke weeks ago. I threw it out then and haven't replaced it. A small silver SUV tossed Molotov cocktails through my front windows! They burned down my fucking house!"

Bradley rubbed his eyes and heaved a sigh. "Detective Morelli, you're a good cop. Take my advice, collect the insurance money, go to a different town, and start over."

"You mean as in leave Trenton?"

"Yeah."

"Are you firing me?"

"If I have to. Look, like I said you're a good cop, but apparently you've pissed off someone and that someone is a major player—one that doesn't like his tail yanked…certainly not by the Trenton PD. I don't have a choice. Leave while you can…I can give you a good recommendation."

"Don't bother—I quit." Joe slammed down his gun and badge and stomped out of the room.

Captain Bradley ran his fingers through his ever thinning hair. He hated what just happened, but some things were beyond his control.

…

Joe could feel his anger rocketing to an out-of-control level. Every silver Ford Escape that passed him on the road was scrutinized…luckily most of them were driven by soccer Moms and had a swarm of kids fooling around in the back.

When he finally made it back to RangeMan, he could hardly contain himself.

"Problem?" Tank asked from the front desk.

Joe glared at him. "Nothing beating the shit out of someone won't fix."

"Anyone in particular?"

"My weak-ass, spineless ex-boss, I've been fired."

Tank reached in his pocket and pull out a locker key. "Gym's on the fifth floor. You can use my gloves, locker 15…heavy bag's in the back. Hal's down there _interviewing_."

"_Interviewing_?"

"Yeah, with Ranger gone…we're short."

After about a ten minute flurry on the heavy bag, Joe was beginning to feel better. He paused a while to watch Hal testing a large young male.

"Okay…I have a knife," Hal showed the kid a rubber knife and bent the tip a few times. "I'm going to come at you—defend yourself."

Morelli watched in disbelief as the boy stepped directly in line with the knife's thrust…his arms trying to punch Hal in the process. Hal ducked the punch and stabbed the kid in the ribs with the rubber blade.

The big man shook his head. "You wouldn't last an hour with RangeMan, and we don't have the time right now to train unskilled labor." Taking a card out of his pocket he continued. "If you really want to join us, get some experience. This is Richard Cline's card, he'll make a street fighter out of you or…kill you trying. I'm sorry kid; you're just not ready."

They watched the dejected kid walk to the elevator. "Too bad," remarked Hal, "we really do need an extra man."

"So interview me," said Morelli.

"You're a cop."

"Not anymore."

After making a short call to Tank to let him know that he was interviewing Joe, Hal began. He started with a roundhouse punch to Joe's head. Quickly side-stepping out of range, Joe countered with a sweeping take-down. The interview rapidly moved from testing to a good heavy hand-to-hand workout. At the end of 30 minutes, Tank stepped into the gym.

"You passed the interview with Hal, but I have a few questions of my own."

Morelli nodded still breathing hard.

"You are no doubt already aware that RangeMan occasionally operates on the grayer side of the law. Are you okay with that?"

"The grayer side of the law? You mean like burning down a man's house and blaming it on the toaster he tossed weeks ago?"

Tank and Hal looked understandably confused.

Joe thought for a moment—remembering all the times that Ranger saved Stephanie's life and, more recently, the RangeMan SUV's that watched over them night and day after Stephanie's apartment was trashed; he remembered Tank's aid through the fire and beyond. "Yeah, I'm very okay with RangeMan's ethics."

…

Riding up to the seventh floor, Joe wondered if Steph would be pleased or pissed. He knew that she always hated his job as a cop, but he wasn't sure how she would feel about him working for RangeMan.

He found Stephanie in the bedroom with Ella. They were huddled over something, and Ella was whispering to Steph. _Must be a girl thing, _he thought, _probably looking at a new color of lipstick._

"Cupcake," he started, "I've got some good news and some bad news."

He watch Ella give Stephanie a little push in his direction and then motioned for her to say something.

"Um…so have I…I guess."

"Well…the bad news is that I was fired from the police department—quit under coercion really. The good news is I'm working for RangeMan. At least I think it's good news."

The two women looked at each other. "Tell him," said Ella, "I'm not leaving until you do."

"Um…um…."

"You said that Cupcake."

"Um…I'm pregnant."

Joe blinked at them. He opened and closed his mouth a couple of times. He was completely overcome with joy, but he couldn't quite get it out.

Stephanie hid her face and started to cry.

POW…Ella hit Joe on the back of the head with a rolled up magazine. "Spit it out, Chico. Anyone can see that you love her, and you're beyond happy."

Joe looked at Ella and nodded.

"Tell her!"

"Oh, God, Cupcake…I don't know what to say. I'm so happy. I'm going to be a Dad. I love you." He gathered Stephanie in his arms and then pulled back to look at her. "Wait a minute—Hawaii?"

"Was eight months ago," she replied with a smirk, "Come on Morelli, even you can work that one out."

"But I…I'm so happy." Pulling up her shirt, he gently kissed her belly. "What should we name him? Joe? Do you like Joe? What if it's a girl? Oh, God, what if it _is_ a girl? She'll want to date and…things. If it's a girl, no boy's coming near her. Christ, I know what I was like. I'd kill him if he was like that—with her."

Looking at him, Ella rolled her eyes and left.


	11. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

Ranger and Ashlyn stared at the television. It was in split screen mode with the studio journalist interviewing an on-the-scene correspondent.

"Jack, I understand we have some new information concerning the Clara Reid murder."

"Yes, Melinda, we do. It seems that the police are looking for Ricardo Manoso as a person of interest."

A picture of Ranger flashed across the screen.

"Do we know why they want Manoso?"

"According to Charles Reid—the husband, Manoso was having an affair with Clara—his wife. Reid said in an earlier interview that he had been aware of his wife's indiscretions for some time, and that he hoped they would be able to work through their difficulties upon his recent return."

"That's right, I understand he was out of town during that time."

"Yes, he had business out of town."

"Poor man."

"Yes, Melinda, it must be very hard on him to come home to a murdered wife."

"Thank you for that update, Jack." Turning back to the studio cameras, she continued. "We'll keep you informed as this story unfolds. In the meantime, the authorities are asking for any information leading to the apprehension of Manoso."

Ranger watched as a large picture of him appeared on the screen with a phone number underneath of it. He muted the television and turned to Ashlyn. She was still staring at the screen.

"Ashlyn, I never even met the woman…you don't believe I could…."

"Of course not. I saw the killer, remember—medium build, golf shirt and hat. No one could ever accuse you of having a medium build, and you'd look ridiculous in a golf shirt."

They turned back to the television just in time to see the RangeMan building surrounded by news journalists.

Ranger felt his phone vibrate. It was a text from Tank.

_Circus here. We've lost several accounts and will most likely lose more. Might be time for a permanent identity modification. _

"I have to make a call," he told Ashlyn walking in the next room and closing the door.

"Cadaver, Ranger…I need an alteration…tonight."

"Myself and a woman…slender, about 5'4' or so, long black hair."

After the rather cryptic one-sided conversation, he put his phone back in his pocket. Ranger smiled; Cadaver's lack of conversational skills seemed to match his personality…and, naturally, his name.

Walking back to Ashlyn, he knelt in front of her and took both her hands in his. "Ashlyn, do you trust me?"

"Yes, of course."

"You're going to see some things, maybe have to do some things, tonight that you won't like, but they have to be."

"Like what?"

"Trust me."

She nodded, "always."

Later that night Ranger moved the Camry in front of the house.

At precisely 3:00 AM, he opened the garage door, and a black GMC Savana Cargo Van pulled in. A few seconds later a large man dressed in all black emerged from the van. His face was scared and pitted; everything else was covered in clothing. Even his hands were covered in black latex gloves.

"Cadaver." Ranger nodded a greeting.

"Ranger."

Ranger returned to Ashlyn's side as Cadaver walked through the house.

"The bedroom's going to be the best place. Anything you want to take with you?"

"Not really…just my phone. I'll dispose of it later."

Cadaver and Ranger went to the van and unloaded two black body bags. "Pretty fresh," Cadaver remarked, "shouldn't be too bad." Unzipping them the two men carefully laid each body on the bed...a male and a female. The male was of Cuban descent and was approximately the same height and weight as Ranger. The female resembled Ashlyn in coloring and size.

"Your DNA and finger prints should be all over the house. By the time they find these two," he gestured to the bodies on the bed, "they won't get anything different from them."

Handing each of them a plastic bag, he said, "everything off, clothes, jewelry…everything."

Ashlyn looked wide-eyed at Ranger.

"Whatever it takes," he whispered holding her hand. "I'll walk you through it; just keeping thinking _this will save our lives_."

A few minutes later, Ashlyn and Ranger stood in front of Cadaver completely nude. "Alright, girly, turn around slowly." She did as instructed looking at Ranger for encouragement the entire time. Cadaver went over her body, touching it lightly.

Ashlyn shivered involuntarily.

"Touch her again and you die," growled Ranger.

Cadaver pulled back his hands. "I'm looking for identification marks. I can elimination their DNA with decomposition and…other things," he smiled apparently thinking of the other things. "Still, it's good if I can leave some identifying feature—something to convince them it is you. Do you wear contact lenses?" he asked looking in her eyes.

Ashlyn nodded.

"Okay take them off and put them in her eyes," he motioned toward the woman's body.

"Me?"

"Yeah…I can't with my gloves, and trust me, girly, you don't want to see my hands."

"Come on, I'll help," volunteered Ranger.

Ashlyn quickly removed her green contacts, rewet them and approached the bed. Her hands were shaking and her fingers were like ice. Ranger moved next to her. He draped an arm around her waist to help steady her, and she quickly inserted the contacts into the woman's still open eyes. Ranger immediately pulled Ashlyn to him and held her tightly.

"This is…arousing," said Cadaver. "I'd love to join in, but I got a job to do."

Ranger stepped away from her and allowed Cadaver to examine him for uniqueness. "Don't even think about it," he mumbled.

"I wouldn't; even I prefer living to dying."

After collecting Ashlyn's purse and Ranger's wallet, Cadaver made a call.

"They're ready."

Turning to Ranger, he continued, "There are two towels in the back of the van...use them or not. I don't give a shit. Your transport should be here soon."

Ranger wrapped a towel around Ashlyn covering her as best he could and draped the second one around his waist.

"Don't worry," he said as he kissed the top of her head. "Cadaver's the best at what he does, and if we do everything right, the cops will think those bodies are ours."

"But won't they see the difference?"

"Not after he gets done with them. Not only will they be unidentifiable. They won't be able to match medical records either. Cadaver is very good at what he does."

"How?"

"Better not to know."

"Those bodies," she violently trembled, "were they killed for us? Did we cause their death?"

He looked at her; she was brave but very vulnerable. "Hard to say…but probably not, usually there are adequate remains that someone wants eliminated; that way, Cadaver can collect money both ways—at least that's his preference."

Their conversation was interrupted by the sound of a car just outside. Killing the lights, he opened the garage door. A black Chrysler 300 pulled into the garage crowding Cadaver's van. Ranger opened the back door and guided Ashlyn inside. Once inside he folded her tightly in his arms. The driver never turned his head or spoke. The car turned on I-95 and headed west. After about a 10 minute drive on I-95, they veered off and followed some minor roads. Finally, turning onto a dirt road, the car pulled into a private residence surrounded by trees. Ranger and Ashlyn got out, and the Chrysler sped off.

"Interesting," he said watching the car leave. He looped an arm around Ashlyn and guided her to the darkened front door. Ringing the doorbell, they waited.

They were met at the door by a man wearing a Nixon mask. Touching the mask lightly, he explained. "Everyone here is disguised—for our protection, you understand."

Ranger nodded slowly.

Nixon led them down a hall and directed Ashlyn to a door on the left and Ranger to a door on the right. "You can talk to them, if you want, but they won't answer except to maybe nod their heads or shake them. They won't let you hear their voice—like I said…precautionary measure."

When they re-emerged several hours later, the effect was startling. Ranger's thick dark hair was peppered with silver strands, and he wore taut, faded blue jeans over motorcycle boots. His muscles rippled under a skin-tight dark tank top, and a black leather jacket was slung over his right shoulder.

As always, Ashlyn looked stunning. Her beautiful face was surrounded by soft golden blonde hair. Like him, she wore snug faded blue jeans and motorcycle boots. A black lacey halter top just covered her breasts and peaked out from underneath a black leather jacket. Ranger smiled and tucked his arm around her waist under the jacket his hand teasing warmth into her skin. Her dark, smoky-blue eyes sparkled at him.

"You do know, I can't see a thing without my contacts."

"You do know, you won't need to," was his reply.

Nixon ushered them into the garage and handed Ashlyn a suede purse with fringe. "New ID and make-up inside…make sure you know who you are before leaving." He passed Ranger a wallet and a key chain. "ID inside with the amount of money agreed upon."

Ranger and Ashlyn took out their new ID's and quickly memorized the information…Tori Evans and Alano Ramirez from Rocheport, Missouri.

Ranger glanced at the key and then looked at the only vehicle in the garage. It was covered with a tarp and was obviously some kind of motorcycle. With one motion he uncovered the bike and shook his head. In front of him was a shiny black Yamaha YZF-R1. "Well," he remarked climbing on the bike, "it won't be a comfortable ride, but I assume that's part of the disguise." Ashlyn slid in behind him and wrapped her arms tightly around his waist—her body plastered against him. His eyes turned dark and widened. "It obviously comes with a few perks I was previously unaware of."


	12. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

Tank walked through RangeMan and looked around. They officially cremated and then buried Ranger and Ashlyn a month ago. The press circus moved on, but the control room was subdued. The men were still in mourning—each in his own way. Tank had identified Ranger's body, and Hal, posing as Ashlyn's bother did the same for her. For all practical purposes, Ranger was dead, and whether or not that was so in actuality was only marginally important. He knew the death was a good fake, but he also knew that as far as he was concerned he would never see his best friend again.

His attention shifted to a monitor. It was watching one of the conference rooms. He could see Stephanie and Morelli sitting on one side of the table with Mrs. Plum and Mrs. Morelli on the other side. It looked like the two mothers were doing all the talking, and judging from the look on the _happy couple's_ faces, it wasn't going well.

Stephanie sat looking at Joe and stroking her belly. Tank couldn't believe that the mothers still didn't know about the baby. All they had to do was open their eyes. Everyone at RangeMan knew about the baby. Just a few hours after Stephanie told Joe, they made a formal announcement to the entire staff. The next day Joe couldn't stop talking about it. In Tank's mind that baby was the only good thing currently going for RangeMan.

Taking a deep breath, he walked toward the conference room. As head of RangeMan and Morelli's current boss, he had a vested interest in the discussion. Besides that, he was God-father to their growing baby and, thereby, had a duty to help protect the mother from undue stress. In Tank's mind this stress was absolutely unnecessary.

"It will take at least six months to get this organized," he heard Mrs. Plum declare.

Mrs. Morelli chimed in with how nice a June wedding will be along with a long list of all the things that must be done.

Tank walked through the door and up to the table. He remained standing with his hands on his hips.

"…and the dress. To get a proper fit it could take weeks, months if it has to be ordered. Not to mention the flowers. All these things take time," added Mrs. Plum. "Besides that I'm not at all happy with her living here. People will talk, you know. After all, this Ranger person was a known murderer."

Tank glared at her for a full two minutes and then reigned in his anger for his God-child's sake. Stephanie looked even more shell-shocked, and he wondered how come her mother hadn't noticed the effect she was having on her daughter. "Steph," he said gently, "what do _you_ want?"

Stephanie turned to Joe and looked deep into his eyes. "I want a small wedding—just family and a few friends…here at RangeMan, and I want it very soon.

Joe looked at Tank for conformation.

Tank nodded his assent.

"Then that is what you'll have, Cupcake." He turned toward the mothers and donned his cop face daring them to disagree.

A few minutes later, Mrs. Morelli left in a huff, followed by a steaming Mrs. Plum.

…

The next morning Joe and Stephanie watched in disbelief as the massive RangeMan employees parted to let Grandma Bella through the control room.

"Your Mama want June Wedding…you wait this long…you wait seven months. Where girl?"

Stephanie stepped out from behind her computer desk.

Piercing eyes scrutinized Stephanie a minute or two and then Bella shuffled toward her. Stephanie automatically held protective hands over her expanding belly and looked to Joe for help. Gently moving Steph's hands, Bella lightly touched the growing belly. "My flesh and blood…my Great-granddaughter," she whispered.

"It's a girl?" Stephanie questioned softly—her wide eyes full of tears.

"Is girl," Bella told her with a hug. "I protect her; I protect you."

_Well…so much for the baby secret, _thought Joe.

"We have small wedding—here—next week; I bring Father Donovan."

Having made her declaration, Grandma Bella turned and left.

…

The next few days were a whirl of activity. Grandma Mazur, Lula, and Sally Sweet arrived late the next day followed by six huge RangeMan guys weighted down with packages and boxes of various sizes and shapes.

"Bella said you got knocked up by Joe, and the wedding will be next week; so, we figured you could use some help in finding a wedding dress," Grandma explained indicating that the men could put the boxes on the dining room table. "We told everyone to dig out their old dresses, and we'd let you decide which one you wanted."

Going to the boxes, Sally Sweet immediately started pulling out what looked like miles of white organza.

Lula frowned. "Course, if you want something real styling, I got the perfect thing," she added. "I didn't bring it on a count of I might need it later. I got a date."

"You're going to wear a wedding dress on a date?" Stephanie asked.

"It's real cute…when I was a 'ho all my clients loved it. They said how it was exactly what a bride should look like. It's a white satin thong with a big bow in the back; it's even got a train."

Stephanie grimaced, "I think I'll pass."

"Yeah, she might be too big to get into it by then," offered Grandma.

"The wedding's next week," Steph pointed out.

"You can never tell about them babies. Myna Saucenmyer was big as a barn when she was three months."

"Since Myna Saucenmyer gave birth to a fully developed baby at four months, I think we can assume she lied about how far along she was."

"Yeah, I always wondered about that," admitted Grandma.

"I found it," said Sally Sweet holding the dress in front of him and twirling around.

Stephanie smiled. It was perfect…a simple white satin floor length, fitted gown with swirls of small pearls sewn in the bodice. Fastened to the gown's tag was a note.

_At RangeMan we take care of our own…Ella._

Between Ella and Sally the rest of the arrangements were made in record time. The largest conference room was set up with chairs draped in white ribbon and flowers. A large wedding cake sat on a table to one side. After adamantly refusing to wear white, Joe wore a simple grey suit. Tank locked the outside doors and let the entire RangeMan staff join in.

Just before the ceremony, Vinnie propositioned one of Joe's cousins and almost started a gun fight. He was swiftly removed. Other than that, the wedding was surprisingly tranquil.

The Plum family sat on one side with Connie, Lula, and Sally Sweet behind them. The Morelli family sat on the other side with a few of Joe's friends from the police department behind them. The RangeMan guys filled in the rest of the seats. Ella and Tank stood in the back grinning.

"Is Joe staying?" Ella whispered.

Tank shook his head. "Nope, the insurance money came in; he's looking for something in a small, quiet town with good schools."

"I hope he finds it."

"He will. RangeMan is helping."

"Help slowly then; I want to see that baby."

Tank smiled and nodded. "So do I…so do I."


	13. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

Ranger AKA Alano Ramirez took a deep breath, sank into the sofa, and waited. His migraine was getting worst…it had to be Diesel. Diesel was the only one who could make his skull literally pound. Although he knew it was ineffective, his Smith & Wesson .500 was on one side of him, and Ashlyn was on the other side.

Pain stabbed through his head. He had to control it. Controlling the pain was the only chance they had. It had been a long time since he used his inner talents…beyond opening the odd lock here and there. He closed his eyes and took inventory. Years ago as a concession for leaving SWIS, they installed a minuscule transmitter in his head. Although the device didn't monitor his movements like a GPS would have, it did cause considerable pain when exposed to Diesel's unique vibrations. This was designed to give Diesel an edge in case Ranger was slated for apprehension. The transmitter in his head was functioning at full power. Diesel was close. Taking another deep breath, he looked at Ashlyn. Concentrating on her face, he gradually pushed the pain from his head and reached for the transmitter. Focusing the full force of his energies, he disabled it. He was ready.

He centered himself and opened his internal radar. As soon as Diesel appeared in the room, Ranger was on him.

"Dude, chill…I only want to talk."

Ranger opened his senses and realized that he was telling the truth.

"What happened to the transmitter?" Diesel asked.

"It's dealt with."

"Holy shit…man, I always knew that SWIS underestimated you, but hell you're like a fucking power plant." Diesel smiled when he saw Ashlyn. "I knew there was a woman here, but WOW."

"NOT HER!" warned Ranger stepping in between Diesel and Ashlyn.

"Damn…anyway, I thought you might be interesting in this." He snatched the television remote off the table and turned on the news.

An Army spokesperson appeared on the screen in front of the press corp. "Colonel Charles Reid of the United States Army was found dead this evening from an overdose of narcotics. Reid apparently was distraught over his wife's death earlier this year. Officials have retrieved a suicide note, and handwriting experts have verified its authenticity."

The military representative was interrupted with a question from the press.

"I'm sorry, at this time the Army will not be receiving questions."

Diesel turned off the television.

"Does that mean it's safe for us to return home?" Ashlyn asked Ranger.

"No…actually the opposite; it means that someone is tying up loose ends—someone with enough power to suicide a Colonel in the army."

"They killed him?"

"Yeah."

"Who killed Clara?"

"Hard to say, probably the Colonel…she was his problem to fix." He paused. "They'll kill us—if they can." Ranger stopped and stared at Diesel.

"Dude, you know _I'm_ the only one who can find you."

"And I'm the only one who can _kill_ you," Ranger countered.

"Shit…what I'm saying is that as far as I'm concerned you're off my radar. No one knows that I'm here. Hell, everyone fell for that job you had Cadaver do." Diesel smiled. "It's nice to know he's still around…I might need him someday myself."

Ranger continued to stare at him. Diesel's energy indicated that he was telling the truth, and but it was imperative to be certain.

"Live long and prosper," said Diesel giving them the Vulcan hand signal and then disappearing into the ether.

"Yeah…that was Diesel. With luck we'll never see him again." Ranger shifted his radar to Ashlyn. He expected to sense fear and probably loathing. What he felt was love and trust radiating from her with a touch of curiosity. He smiled. He once told Stephanie that she couldn't find the bat cave with GPS. That was true since it wasn't a house or apartment. The bat cave was in him…his heart…his soul, and he played for keeps. Once you're in—you're not leaving, and Ashlyn was definitely in. "Did you have a question?" he asked her.

"SWIS?"

"Special Weapons and Intelligence Services…a loosely formed group of men with a variety of unique talents and skill levels. A lifetime ago I was part of an elite group of SWIS. It wasn't a happy time."

"And now?"

Ranger smiled and pulled her to him. "Now is a very happy time."

…

_Back at RangeMan:_

Stephanie Morelli tore open the envelope and unfolded the letter carefully.

_Dear Tia Steph:_

_Thanks for writing me. After my dad died I was so upset, but your letter really helped. It made me realize that I still have you and, of course, my mom and my stepdad. I know that you're right. My dad lived the life he wanted to live, and he knew the risks. That was why he gave me up to begin with. I love him and I miss him, but I know he died happy doing what he wanted to do…like you said, maybe, doing what he needed to do. _

_I'm really looking forward to seeing you (and the baby when she comes). Mom said that I can come visit sometime next summer and help you, if that's okay with you. Please say I can! I promise I won't be any trouble, and I'll help with the new baby._

_Love, _

_Julie_

_P.S. Maybe I can even help you and Joe move. Mom would let me if you asked her. I can't wait. _

Stephanie dried her eyes. She wanted to be part of Julie's life. She knew how much Ranger loved his daughter, and she wanted to make sure that Julie thrived even though her father wasn't there to see it. A part of her still loved Ranger and certainly missed him. It was peculiar though; she couldn't understand why but…as sad as his death was—the word that kept coming to her mind wasn't the word _sad_. It was the word _necessary_.

…

_A month later in a remote section of Canada:_

Ranger sat across from their newest trainee. The dining room at Three Bears Ranch, a small private combat training school, was a large, comfortably, warm room. He could see the Canadian snow piling up outside the windows. _Tonight will be particularly cold_, he observed objectively. For the most part, the cold didn't bother him. His thoughts were interrupted by Ashlyn and Ginger laughing at the far end of the room. They were decorating a large Christmas tree or at least Ashlyn was decorating it. Ginger sat rubbing her swollen belly and directing the proceedings. Granted the Christmas tree seemed out of place in a mercenary training school. The tree was meant to divert Ginger's attention from the rigors of her final months of pregnancy. Ginger's giggle jingled across the room…apparently it was working.

"Hey, Gingerbread," said Ace, her husband and director of the school. He bent low next to her and slipped a hand under her shirt to greet his growing child.

"Gingerbread?" asked the trainee with a smirk.

"Pet name for his wife."

"I see—what do you call her," he asked indicating Ashlyn.

Ranger watched the man's eyes follow Ashlyn's graceful movements as she leaned over to hang an ornament on the tree. He thought for a moment about pet names—Gingerbread, Ace's name for Ginger and Cupcake, Morelli's name for Stephanie. He looked at Ashlyn and knew that there was only one thing he wanted to call her and that was _wife_.

He fixed his unyielding gaze on the man in front of him. "I call her…mine."

...

The End…I hope you enjoyed the story.

* * *

Dear Readers:

Please know that I value you greatly. Thank you for your kind reviews. I do understand that reading a story in episodes is a difficult method and one that unfortunately lends itself to confusion. If you are confused about anything, please feel free to PM me. I hope that a reading straight through will eliminate most of the confusion; however, what is clear in my mind is not necessarily clear in the minds of my readers. You help to insure that my picture is also your picture…thank you. I look forward to hearing from you.

Jopar


	14. Part 2 Chapter 1

_**Dear Readers,**_

_**Rather than add a sequel to "In the Wind" I have decided to continue it with Part Two. Please PM me if you get confused. I hope you enjoy the story.**_

_**Jopar**_

_**Part Two: Fifteen Years Later**_

Chapter One

Malcolm Prescott Fischer sat on a bench watching Pino's pizza. In the three weeks since his release from New Jersey State Prison, he had watched a lot of cops come and go, but none of them were Morelli. _Where the hell is he? _ wondered Malcolm. He was losing patience. _As much as I don't want to do it—I'll have to get proactive,_ he reasoned_. No one could really blame me._ _ Besides, it's Morelli's fault; it's always Morelli's fault…then and now._

Forcing himself to relax, he stretched out his long legs and closed his eyes. He waited until Pino's was about to close and then walked inside—quietly sliding into a booth in the very back.

A middle-aged woman carrying a tray walked by. It was her section. He had noticed her interaction with various cops while he was waiting and watching. If anyone could give him gossip about Morelli, it would be her. "Honey, we're about to close, but if you're quick, I can probably get you a pizza to go," she offered.

Malcolm nodded accepting a menu from her. _Oh, I can be quick, _he thought to himself. _I can be very quick…then again, _he mused enjoying her abundant cleavage._ What's the rush…life's too short to scarf down the candy. Candy should be savored one·bite·at·a·time. _

"Ok…what'll it be?" she asked taking out her order pad.

"Small cheese, please…and could you bring me a coke while I wait."

"Sure thing, Sugar. Let me just get this order in."

A few minutes later she came back with his coke. "Anything else?" she asked with a smile.

Holding her eyes, he turned on the charm. "I hate to ask and besides, you're probably too young to remember, but well…a friend of mine use to live in this area. I think he came in here a lot. I'm trying to hook-up with him…maybe, you might know how I can reach him."

"Sure…what's his name?"

"Joe Morelli."

"Joe Morelli, now there's a blast from the past. He got married—finally, to Stephanie Plum. Good God, took him long enough."

Malcolm winked and nodded encouragingly. _God, I'm good, _he bragged to himself, _she's chatting away like a spewing steam engine._

"Anyway, he moved his family to a small town in Pennsylvania—Montrose, I think it was..yeah, that was it. Gee, that must a been 15 years ago."

"His family?"

"He had a sweet little girl—born just before they moved. That would put her 15 now. Come to think of it, I think I heard he might of have had a boy, too…oh, hell, maybe that was someone else."

Malcolm smiled. _This is going to be fun, _he thought, _Morelli with a delicate little wife and two fragile kids. Oh, yeah, I really going to enjoy this. _Turning his attention back to the waitress, he gently took her hand, raised it to his mouth, and gallantly kissed it. "Thank you, sweet lady…I'll look him up in Montrose."

She beamed, "Listen, tell him Darlene said hey, and you come back to Pino's if you need anything else."

"Thanks, I will."

Malcolm stepped outside and strolled out of sight. Dumping his pizza in the nearest trash can, he fastened his coat tightly around him and pulled on leather gloves. Pino's was now closed; he could see _his_ waitress cleaning tables and replacing the chairs. Moving deeper into the shadows, he leaned against a wall to wait. He figured she would be done in an hour or so. He was right.

"See you tomorrow," he heard her call on her way out the door.

Silently, he followed her to her car. Grabbing her roughly, he covered her mouth and pulled her to him.

She whimpered against his palm and tried to wiggle out of his grasp.

He tightened his grip and whispered to her. "Since you're such a good friend of Morelli's, and you did say to come back to Pino's if I need anything else—well…consider me back, and what I need is to _play_." He pulled her into the shadows of a dark alleyway and…_played_. _Besides_, he reasoned, _in the end, it's Morelli's fault…everything is Morelli's fault._ After he was finished with her, he kissed her unseeing eyes goodbye and whispered into her unhearing ears. "Don't fret, Darling, I'll be sure and tell Joe Morelli you said _hey_." With that message conveyed, he scooped up his _trinkets_ and left.

**…**

If Darlene's eyes could still see, she would have watched the shadows part a few minutes later and a pair of shiny black shoes amble toward her. The shoes stopped and knelt by her body. Being carefully not to disturb anything, a thinly gloved hand reached out and checked for a pulse…nothing. Having confirmed her death, the hand reached into a pocket, pulled out a cell phone, and hit the number 1 on speed dial. "Move Malcolm Prescott Fischer's file to activated. I will update it periodically," hissed the caller.


	15. Part 2 Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Tank ducked into his office at RangeMan. He could hardly contain himself. Lester had called last night to say that the son of a distant relative was spending the summer with him, and he would be bringing the boy in to RangeMan. Tank shook his head; he had almost refused. After all, RangeMan was no place for a boy; however, Lester hadn't asked permission but simple announced his intentions as fact.

Then today when that boy walked in…tall, dark, muscular, oozing discipline from every pore. Tank smiled. He knew immediately who fathered that kid. Ranger's genetic signature was all over that one. His thoughts were interrupted by a knock.

Lester slipped into the office and closed the door behind him. "Thought you might like to meet him."

Tank smiled even wider. "And his father?" he whispered

"Safe in Canada—I got a text last week…from Alano Ramirez, saying his son would be visiting me this summer to meet his distant relatives."

"How did you know it was from him?"

Lester smiled. "He called me Leslie. We fought over his right to call me Leslie when I was nine or ten. I lost. To my knowledge this is the first time he used the name since then."

"But you lost?"

"Yeah…go figure, I guess he just wanted a good fight. He knew I hated that name. Who knows—when I see him again, I'll ask."

"In the meantime?"

"Apparently, I have his son for the summer. Maybe he can come in to RangeMan some? I'd like to see just how deep those genes run, and the gym's always a good place to start."

Tank nodded. "I still miss his father's workouts. I'd like to see what his kid can do."

Lester put his finger to his lips.

Tank nodded. The situation had not changed since Ranger left. The people looking for him then–were still out there now and were no doubt ready for action should Ranger resurface. Being ex-military, both men were well aware of that particular danger and all that it entailed.

An hour later Tank found himself opposite Rick Ramirez in the gym. He waited giving the boy a chance to attack, but true to a veteran fighter the kid patiently waited for Tank. Every move Tank made was countered immediately. The action was so quick that Tank swore the kid was reading his mind. Finally, he backed up…"so how am I telegraphing?" he asked Rick.

"To most people you probably aren't."

"How?"

Rick touched his neck lightly. "Sometimes this muscle jumps almost imperceptivity."

Tank draped a towel over the muscle in question and threw a punch. Like always the boy was one step ahead of him.

"How?" he growled in frustration.

Rick sighed. "Did you ever meet my mother? I have her dark blue eyes…and her sight."

"I met her briefly…her sight?"

"Something about you shifts just before you strike. I might be the only one who can see it. It also sort of tells me where."

"And your father?"

Rick smiled remembering. "Drove him nuts the first time it happened. Since then, he's made sure I had plenty of practice reading it."

"I bet." Tank could just imagine Ranger honing his boy into bat boy—fighter whiz kid.

"Sir, while I'm here, I would like to come in with Lester—if that is okay with you…Sir.

Tank smiled. "It is, provided you stop calling me Sir; the men call me Tank. I've got two men currently out with injuries. You can help fill in until they're back…then we'll see."

"Thank you, S…,Tank."


	16. Part 2 Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Eddie rubbed his fingers through the last remains of his hair and looked down at the body. Everything was covered except her face. _Darleen_ _Ragusa_, he could indentified her himself…hell every cop in Trenton could ID her. _Christ,_ he thought, _she must of worked at Pino's since she was in high school._ A murder in the alleyway by Pino's was like a killing at Trenton PD. _One thing for sure,_ _the killer had balls, either that, or he was very stupid. Cops everywhere…shit, someone had to have seen something._

His thoughts were interrupted by Thomas Baker, the detective who took Morelli's place in the department. "According to last night's cook, she finished her shift and then left. He didn't hear anything or see anything."

"Nothing strange?"

"Only thing he remembers is being a little pissed off because somebody ordered a small cheese pizza to go at the last minute. He figured it was a cop since it came from Darleen, and they usually sat in her section."

"Small cheese pizza?" Eddie looked at Tom. "You ever seen a cop order a small cheese pizza?"

Tom shook his head. "Nope, trouble is no one remembers that last customer. He came in late, and they were all anxious to go home."

"So they remember a _him_?"

"They remember a man…not much more than that."

"Hair color, eye color, height, general weight, anything?"

"Nothing specific…they all agree he was average—not the kind of person they would notice if they were looking, and they weren't."

"Damn."

He turned back to the body. Gently lifting the cover, he heaved a deep sigh. Her breasts were marked in spirals that looked like cigarette burns. The burns circled each breast like a corkscrew, becoming smaller and smaller until they reached her nipples. Her nipples had been removed from the body.

He gestured toward them looking at Pete Wilson the Medical Examiner.

"Haven't found them yet…might have taken them with him. I won't know for sure until I do an autopsy. As you know, this type of perp can be…well…inventive."

"Yeah…great."

"The marks, here," Pete indicated her beasts "and the slices down in this area lead me to believe he's done this before. See how uniform they are…how planned."

Eddie nodded. "Another words, if we're lucky his profile will be on the data base."

"If we're lucky."

**…**

They weren't.


	17. Part 2 Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Joe Morelli shook his head as he listened to the conversation wafting in from the kitchen.

"But I hardly ever get to see you now that you've moved," he heard Stephanie's mother complain. "I know everyone at the viewing will be so disappointed if you don't come. They'll all think you had something against poor Mr. Reynolds. You didn't did you? He was such a nice man, so polite. What could you possibly not like about him?"

"I didn't even know the man," snapped Stephanie beyond wits end.

Joe let out a deep breath. Ever since Frank died, Mrs. Plum seemed emotional destitute. He could understand, even sympathize with her; it had to be very difficult to lose your spouse, but her need to have Steph with her all the time was unbearable. This was the only vacation he would get this year, and he wanted to spend at least some of it with his wife.

"Please Mom, I'm tired, and I really want to spend some time with my family."

"I am your family. You know Emma De Luca's daughter always spends all her vacation time with her mama. She's such a good girl."

"Emma De Luca's daughter doesn't have a husband and a daughter she needs to spend time with," countered Joe moving into the kitchen next to Stephanie and putting his arm around her.

"Well…I should have know better than to expect a Morelli to understand the need for a mother and daughter to be together," griped Ellen Plum as she glared at her son-in-law.

"**That is enough!**" snapped Stephanie rubbing her aching head. "Val is already taking you to the viewing. You don't need me to go. I am staying here with my husband, and I'm going to enjoy time with him and Belle–when she returns from RangeMan. You will be fine…go enjoy."

"But it would be so nice if I had both my girls with me; after all Mrs. Rosenthal…" started Mrs. Plum.

"**You heard me…NO!**"

The argument was interrupted by a short honk. Together Joe and Stephanie watched a disgruntled Mrs. Plum collect her purse and walk to the car where Val was waiting.

"She's pissed," Stephanie observed.

"Yeah…she'll get over it. Come here," Joe smiled pulling his wife into his arms for a kiss.


	18. Part 2 Chapter 5

**I know I don't say it enough...THANK YOU FOR THE REVIEWS! I do read each of them; in some cases, you keep me focused on writing. I hope you continue to enjoy the story.**

Chapter Five

Malcolm Prescott Fischer pulled his old silver PT Cruiser into a restaurant on the outskirts of Montrose, Pennsylvania. The Emberz Restaurant and Pizzeria was the perfect place to stop. It wasn't actually in Montrose, and he was getting hungry. _Best of all_, Malcolm reflected, _the marquee under the restaurant's name announced free Wi-Fi._ Grabbing the new laptop he won in a contest two days ago, he headed for the dining room. _Funny_, thought Malcolm, not for the first time, _I still don't remember entering the contest. Still, never look a gift horse in the mouth._

Being in the middle of the afternoon and therefore too early for the dinner crowd and too late for the lunch crowd, the Emberz was completely empty. The hostess waved to Malcolm and indicated that he could choose his own seat. He quickly found a corner tucked away in the back. Malcolm hastily scanned the menu and ordered. While he was waiting for his drink, he watched the only other costumer arrive–a man in a dark suit carrying a briefcase. The man was greeted by the hostess and selected a table out of Malcolm's line of vision. Malcolm shrugged, _I can't see you–you can't see me. Yeah works for me, _he thought_. _As soon as the waitress brought his drink, he pushed it to one side and placed the computer on the table.

After a few seconds the computer screen came to life, and Malcolm googled Joseph Morelli Montrose. He scanned down the search return list noticing that each entry seemed to get further and further away from the Joe Morelli he wanted. _Damn it_, he whispered and reached for his drink.

The screen flickered for a few seconds, and Malcolm thought there was something wrong with the machine. When the flickering stopped, the first entry on the list read: Guiseppe Antonello Morelli and Stephanie Plum Morelli, 108 Bowen Street, Montrose, PA. The listing was from the property appraiser's site. Malcolm copied the address on a napkin and shoved it in his pocket. The property appraiser's site very generously told him all sorts of information along with a detailed description of the property and a drawing of the perimeter floor plan. A satellite photo added information concerning trees and bushes. Before long Malcolm had a detailed plan designed. Since the backyard was surrounded by thick trees, he would park two streets over and then come in through the back patio.

He was interrupted by the arrival of his food. Closing the laptop and pushing it to one side, he made room for his plate and asked to waitress to bring his check. She was a sexy, brash thing and briefly he thought how much fun it would be to play with her. _Maybe after Morelli_, he thought anxious to continue his quest. Before long Malcolm finished his food, laid down the correct amount of money, and left.

The man in the dark suit placed his laptop back in his briefcase and left a few minutes afterward. Once more in his black sedan, he removed his cell phone from his pocket and dialed 1. "Malcolm Preston Fischer is on task and moving toward the target," he reported.

…

Bowen Street was on the other side of the town from the Emberz Restaurant. Driving by slowly, Malcolm found 109 Bowen Street but could see no number on the house across the street. On his third time around the loop, an older woman was standing in front of 109 Bowen Street by the mailbox. He stopped and rolled down his window.

"Hey, I just have to ask, are those Bella Donna Roses?" he inquired turning on the charm.

"Yes, oh my, most people don't know them. They're quite old you know."

"I know I remember them in my grandmother's garden, along with Golden Blush and Gipsy boy. Then there were some beautiful perfect red ones. I can't remember the name now."

"Francis Dubreuil?"

After pretending to consider the name, Malcolm responded with a charismatic smile, "Possibly."

"I have some in my back garden along a fence. Would you like to see them?"

"I would love to…it would bring back those wonderful childhood memories."

Malcolm carefully backed his car toward the edge of her lot. A bush jutted thick branches out to the road, and its dense foliage hid his license plate.

"I'm sorry," started Malcolm. "I haven't even introduced myself. I'm William Powers, but everyone calls me Bill," he said extending his hand.

"Very pleased to meet you, Bill. You know I have a brother named Bill.

Malcolm smiled. _Everyone has someone in their family named Bill, _he thought congratulating himself on his name choice.

I'm Evelyn Markovich" she continued warmly. Malcolm raised her hand to his lips and lightly kissed it.

"Oh dear," Evelyn whispered blushing.

"I'm sorry if I'm out of turn, but you remind me of my own sweet mother. Perhaps you would be gracious enough to show me your lovely backyard."

"Of course, it will be my pleasure."

Malcolm followed Evelyn around dutifully admiring each flower and adding just enough comments to keep her happily chatty.

"My Grandmother use to love to share her flowers. I noticed that your neighbors across the street don't seem to have a green thumb. Do you share your treasures with them?"

"I certainly do, the Morelli family lives there. They don't really have much time for their garden–him being Montrose's chief of police and all, and of course, she keeps quite busy with their teenage daughter. Teenagers are so difficult now-a-days."

Malcolm nodded politely.

"You know, I probably shouldn't be saying this," Evelyn lowered her voice to a whisper, "but if Mrs. Morelli were more careful about how that girl dressed, she'd have a lot less trouble with her. Always wears blue jeans with holes in them, she does, and all ragged on the bottom where the hem is. You would think we don't pay her Daddy enough money to afford better. After all, they obviously have enough money to take a two week vacation…probably paid."

"Is that where they are now?"

"Yes, the nerve of it–visiting her mother in Trenton for a whole two weeks. Can you imagine. What if something happened here…irresponsible…that's what I call it."

Looking toward the Morelli home as if she could see it through the concrete walls of her house, Evelyn continued on. Before she could turned back to him, Malcolm grabbed her. Covering her mouth with his hand, he dragged her to her precious Francis Dubreuil roses. Evelyn was terrified; Malcolm's smile broadened–terrified was good. He pinned her body to the ground with his weight and with his free hand ripped off her shirt. Taking his knife from its place in his boots, he slice open her bra. _She's a lot older than Darlene, _Malcolm thought as he surveyed her naked breasts and lit his cigarette. _Still after that sexy young waitress at the restaurant, I'm ready for some fun. Besides, it's Morelli's fault–if he had stayed in Trenton, I wouldn't have to do this. I deserve a little amusement for driving all this way. _When he was done, Malcolm reached out and crushed a delicate red bloom from the Francis Dubreuil next to him and threw it down on top of the body. He watched for a few minutes as Evelyn's blood mixed with the fragile red petals. "Don't worry," he said, "I'll be sure to inform Mrs. Morelli as to your advice on child rearing."

…

Eyes behind dark glasses watched Malcolm return to his worn out Chrysler and leave. After a second or two the black sedan pulled out behind Malcolm.


	19. Part 2 Chapter 6

Chapter Six

"Oh, my, God, he is so cute," Belle continued on about the boy she met at RangeMan.

Stephanie Morelli stole a glance at her husband and hid her grin behind her magazine. The veins in Joe's neck were beginning to stand out. _He can listen for hours to all sorts of horrid and stress provoking things at work and remain completely devoid of emotion, _she pondered amused,_ but you let his only daughter discover boys, and the world just ended—story at 6:00._

"So does this boy have parents?" Joe asked.

Belle shrugged, "Guess so."

Morelli took a deep breath obviously trying to be patient. "Does he have a last name?"

"Ramirez, he's Rick Ramirez. Lester said he's a distant relative."

"So he's Spanish?"

"Guess so," she shrugged. "He's tall and kind of dark with long black hair and dark blue eyes."

Joe leaned back and took another deep breath. _I'll kill him, _he thought to himself. _If he lays one finger on her, I'll kill him. _His thoughts were interrupted by a giggle from his wife.

"What?" growled Joe.

"Now you know how the fathers of girls your age felt when you were young and _active_."

"Cupcake, I was young and active for twenty years. If this keeps up, I won't live past the next five."

"You'll get use to it."

"When will she be normal again?"

"You mean when will she not like boys?"

Joe sighed, "Yeah…something like that."

Stephanie laughed.

"Those days are over Pal, and you'd better get with the new program.

"Why's that?"

"It's your job to interview the potentials when they pick her up for a date."

They were interrupted by Belle who was busy reading a text. "Oh, my, God. He's ask me out! Please say I can. Please, please…you have to say yes."

Steph looked at Joe and saw sweat forming on his upper lip.

"Have you finished your summer reading yet?" she calmly asked Belle.

"Almost…I only have one more book to read and journal."

"I don't see how you could possibly go anywhere without finishing that first."

"But it's not due until I get back."

Stephanie gave her the look–the one that warned _don't push me_."

"If I finish it before Saturday, then can I go?"

"Provided your father and I meet him first, and you are home by curfew."

Belle stared at her mother for a moment or two. "Then I have work to do," she said quietly and left.

Joe frowned, "Cupcake…."

"I know, you love her. So do I, but you can't lock her up and hope the boys go away. You do that and you'll lose her for good.

"I just don't want her to…."

"To—what?"

Joe took a deep breath. He was in too far now to back out.

"To fuck some guy in a pastry shop behind the counter?" Stephanie asked narrowing her eyes.

"Yeah."

"You mean like what you did to me?"

"Yeah."

She closed the distance between her and Joe. Grabbing his shirt, she looked him straight in the face. "Listen Morelli—you were an ass—still are most of the time, but that's your demon to face…not Belle's. Stop trying to protect her from you."

Joe stared at her. "You can't mean you'll let her go out with just anyone."

"Of course not—I told her we have to meet the boy, and she must make curfew. In the meantime run the Ramirez name through your stupid computer data base, if you have to. There must be thousands of families with that name in the North East…should keep you busy for a while. Know this though, you _will_ get use to this dating thing. Belle is a very beautiful girl. A boy would have to be blind not to be attracted to her."

Joe thought about it for a second. "You don't supposed this Rick boy is blind…I could be okay with blind."

Stephanie balled up her fist and hit him. "Oh, get out of here. Mom and Val will be back soon, and I want to call Mary Lou first and say Hi."

…

By Thursday Belle's summer reading was finished, and she was driving her family nuts trying to find something dazzling to wear. Joe had repeatedly suggested that turtle neck sweaters were in style and all the rage. This earned him matching eye rolls from both mother and daughter.

On Friday Grandma Plum informed Belle that Myrna Steiner's granddaughter always spends her entire vacation with her grandmother–a statement which unsurprisingly resulted in a huge argument between Mrs. Plum and Stephanie. In the end Grandma Plum called Valerie to come get her and promptly stomped out of the house. Although Joe wasn't happy about Belle's upcoming date, he was delighted with his mother-in-law's absence.

…

At exactly seven o'clock on Saturday the doorbell rang. A resolute Joe ambled slowly to the door and opened it.

"Hello, Mr. Morelli. I'm Rick Ramirez," said a young man holding out his hand to Joe.

Joe blinked. The kid was as tall and muscular as he was and more polished than Joe thought possible for an adult–let alone a child.

"Mr. Morelli?" Rick continued still holding out his hand.

"Yes," said Joe shaking the young man's hand. "Please come in."

…

Stephanie stared at Rick. When she agree to this date, she hadn't expected a young Ranger. _Sure the kid was Spanish, _she mused,_ and he did look like Ranger, but there was something about him that pushed it over the top. It was that indefinable thing that made Ranger…well, Ranger. _Her thoughts were interrupted by Joe's interviewing process. _Christ,_ _he took me serious…poor kid._

"Tell me about your parents," Joe commanded slamming down his cop face.

If Rick noticed Joe's rudeness, he didn't show it. "I was born and raised in Canada. My mother has an online business, and my father is an instructor in a combat training school."

"Is that how you got this," Joe asked indicating a small scar on Rick's cheek bone.

"Yes, one of my father's students tagged me. I was…not being aware of my environment."

"Was your father angry?" Stephanie wanted to know.

"He was…not happy."

She drew in a deep breath, "Doesn't he get angry?"

"He believes that anger is an unproductive emotion."

Stephanie stared at Rick, her emotions threatening to overtake her. Luckily, however, Joe was completely oblivious to his wife and ready to resume his interrogation.

"How did you come to be at RangeMan?" he barked.

"I'm a distant relative of Lester Santos. Tank needed some extra help, and Uncle Lester brought me to work with him."

They were interrupted by Belle's entrance. "Daddy are you going to grill him _all_ night?"

Joe watched in amazement as Rick stood and nodded his greeting to Belle. He waited for her to be seated next to Stephanie before retaking his seat.

Belle look pointedly at her mother, and Stephanie cleared her throat. "Joe don't you think it's time to let the kids get on their way. They'll miss the first part of the movie if you keep this up."

Rick looked at Joe and waited patiently for a response.

"Just one more question," Joe muttered. "How are you two getting to the theater and back?"

"Uncle Lester is driving us."

Stephanie laughed. "Les is outside waiting, isn't he?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

"Relax Joe," Stephanie said grinning. "Les is with them; I doubt they'll end up behind the counter of a pastry shop. Not this time anyway."

Belle and Rick looked confused, but when no one clarified the statement, Rick stood and once more held out his hand. "It has been a pleasure to meet you, Sir…Ma'am."

Stephanie watched with an eerie feeling as Rick touched the back of Belle's neck directing her to and through the door.

"Wait a minute," Stephanie said grabbing her cell phone. "I want to get a picture of the two of you."

Belle and Rick stood side-by-side, his arm around her, looking happily into the camera.

After they left, Joe ran his fingers through his mostly grey hair and let out a deep sigh. "What was I thinking. This is Trenton–not Montrose," he whispered, "she doesn't know Trenton. Trenton can be dangerous."

"She'll be safe with him," Steph assured him. _Maybe not safe from him, _she added to herself…_but he will keep her safe from everything else._ "Besides Les is driving them…how much trouble can they get into."


	20. Part 2 Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Eyes shielded by dark glasses watched a slightly disoriented Malcolm stare, while Rick and Belle left Lester's car and walk into the theater. Even from the parking lot, the two observers could see the kids go in theater one. A pretty girl walked by Malcolm's car, and he seemed to pause–probably considering his options. The field agent shook his head slowly. A few seconds later he adjusted his dark glasses and reached for his cell phone. "Prescott Fischer appears to be temporarily stalled. Permission requested to intervene." He paused briefly listening. "Understood…I will proceed and update at later time."

Reaching for the black leather case next to him, he slung it across his shoulders. In a few minutes he was next to the theater's side door. Standing in the dark shadows of the alleyway, he removed two M9 Beretta 9mm Pistols and a small case containing unique lock picks. In a matter of seconds the two weapons were fully loaded and the side door cracked open.

…

As Rick leaned toward Belle to gently kiss her, a movement at the side door caught his eye. He froze. His second sight told him that someone was out there…someone _not good_. "Do you trust me?" he whispered.

Belle nodded her head. "Is something wrong?"

"I think so. I promise I'll always keep you safe. Do exactly what I tell you to do…okay?"

"Okay."

Just before the side door crashed open, Rick pushed Belle to the floor between the rows of seats and covered her with his body. Gunfire rang out and screams filled the theater. Several people scrambled over the seats around Rick and Belle as the theater audience charged the entrance doors. Rick held Belle tightly against the floor and reached for his phone. His fingers flew, sending a text to Lester.

_ Gunfire in theater! Ok. _

Within moments he had Lester's text.

_ On my way. Stay safe!_

When the gunfire stopped, Rick waited a few seconds and then slowly eased up to peak from behind the seats. The gunman was gone, but the theater was still in chaos. Not wanting to move until he knew it was safe, he kept Belle still and protected. Five minutes later, another text from Lester appeared.

_ Waiting out front._

Rick pulled Belle up and ran for the entrance door. The last few people were pushing through, and the teens followed them out. Lester stood by the driver's side of his Toyota RAV4. As soon as he opened the vehicle's back door, a single shot rang out, and Lester bent clutching his abdomen. Rick pushed Belle through the back door and shoved Lester after her. He rocketed into the driver's seat and sped out of the parking lot. Through the rearview mirror he could see Belle stripping off her shirt and using it to stem Lester's bleeding. He smiled.

"Drive!" Belle yelled. "There's a hospital near here on Klockner. Grandma made me go with her to visit a friend."

A few minutes later they were at the hospital. After Lester was removed from the SVU and strapped to a gurney, Rick stripped off his shirt and gently slipped a shaky Belle in it. He pulled her to him, and they followed the gurney into the hospital.

"Is there anyone we can telephone for you?" asked the duty nurse.

"No," said Rick still dazed.

"I'll call Tank," he whispered to Belle.

She nodded.

Forty-three minutes later, Tank and what looked like most of RangeMan descended on the hospital. "Have they said anything?" barked Tank.

Rick shook his head.

Tank looked at Bobby. Bobby nodded and moved toward the nurses' station. The rest of the men took seats in the waiting room.

Tank stood in front of the kids. Rick's usually mocha skin tone was a dull gray, and his eye were shiny with tears. His arms were around Belle holding her tight. She clung to him as visible shivers climbed her body every so often.

"Belle, have you called your father?" Tank asked, gently touching her back.

She shook her head.

"Do you want me to?"

She nodded.

…

Joe Morelli exploded through the hospital doors. Scanning the waiting room, he quickly found Belle and Rick. He stopped and stared. Belle was wearing Rick's shirt, and her face was tucked into his bare chest. His arms were around her in a tight embrace. Morelli watched him gently kiss the top of her head and whisper something to her.

Joe felt anger well up inside of him. _Where the hell is her shirt, _he thought, _and why is it off. I'll kill him…. _

His thoughts were interrupted by Tank's greeting.

"Where the hell is her shirt?" Joe growled through clenched teeth.

Tank handed him a plastic bag with Belle's shirt in it. Her once white shirt was now a reddish-brown mess–streaked with Lester's dried blood. Joe looked at the package confused. "She used it to stanch Lester's bleeding…probably saved his life." Tank explained.

Joe nodded numbly. All he could think about was getting his daughter back home where she was safe.

"Come on, I'm taking you home," he said to Belle.

She looked at him and shook her head.

"I said come on."

"No."

"A lot like her mother, isn't she?" Tank observed with a smile.

Joe ran his fingers through his hair. "I just want her home where she'll be safe."

Tank glared at him for a few seconds and then gestured around the waiting room full of RangeMan uniforms. "And you don't think she's safe here?"

Morelli sighed. "Yeah, I see your point."

"I'll bring her by the Plum house later."

Joe nodded.

"By the way, where's Steph?"

"Home."

"Did you tell her what happened?" Tank wanted to know.

Morelli shook his head. "I didn't know what I would find."

Tank smiled. "You know she's going to go _Rhino_ on you."

"Yeah, _Momma Rhino_ mode to be exact."

Tank wrenched at the thought. "Yeah…we'll take our time…give her plenty of opportunity to work it out on you."

…

After Joe left, Tank took a long look at the kids. _Belle goes back to Morelli, _he reflected, _but Rick's been staying with Lester. He can't go home to an empty apartment. Until I find out what this is about, I can't assume he will be safe._ He walked over and place his hand lightly on Rick's shoulder. "Until Lester's recovered you're staying with me."

"He'll be okay?"

"Yeah, he has to stay in the hospital for a while, but he'll be all right. You'll be staying with me until then."

"Thank you," Rick whispered.


	21. Part 2 Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

Tank rubbed his eyes and turn off the computer. He had looked through RangeMan archives until the words blended together. _There has to be some connection, _he thought warily, _something that I'm missing. Who would shoot Lester…or…is Les a target because he's part of RangeMan? That's more probable, and with 30 odd RangeMan employees–much more problematic. _

Tank sighed. His vision drifted to the control room. Rick was watching the monitors. _Christ, how am I going to protect Ranger's kid, if I can't even figure out why we're a target. _He watched Rick for a few minutes. The boy was in a zone–not unlike the zone his father reached while driving. _Ranger…what would Ranger do if he wanted to protect an innocent from an unidentified danger. _Tank smiled; Ranger had taught him well. Picking up the phone, he dialed Hector's cell.

"I need you to equip Rick Ramirez with a combination tracking device, panic button, and microphone."

Tank listened for a few seconds.

"Yeah, something like the watch we outfitted Stephanie Plum with years ago would work."

The next morning Rick was wearing a new black Nike sports watch with two additional buttons discreetly camouflaged on the side of its face, and Tank was officially his new permanently assigned partner.


	22. Part 2 Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

"You and Belle unload the car. I'm going to check on Mrs. Markovich and let her know we're back," announced Stephanie as they pulled in the driveway.

Joe looked at the house across the street. "Looks like she's in the backyard–gate's open."

"Yeah, probably tending her roses. I'll check there first."

A few minutes later Joe heard Stephanie's horrified scream. He dropped the suitcases and raced across the road. "Belle, get in the house and lock the door," he shouted on his way.

Joe stopped abruptly next to stunned Stephanie. His eyes rapidly shifted from his wife to Evelyn's mutilated body. "Shit," he yelled. His mind raced to Belle walking into a supposedly empty house…a house dangerously close to a brutal murder…an empty house–a good hiding place. _Shit…Is Belle in a locked house with the killer?_ he thought, feeling the strength drain from his body. _What have I done? _ As a police officer, he was trained to secure the crime scene. However, as a husband and father, he had to make sure his family was safe. "Come on," he roared roughly pulling his wife back home.

"But…we can't just leave her," started Stephanie.

"Later–right now I need to make sure you and Belle are safe from whoever did this."

"You mean he might still be around here?"

"Yeah."

Fifteen minutes later, Joe had Stephanie and Belle locked in the master suite, and the entire house thoroughly searched. He paused briefly to call the station before returning to the crime scene.

"I'll send Jim over to stay with you as soon as he arrives," Joe yelled through the door. "Until then, keep this door locked, and keep your cell phone with you."

"Okay," Stephanie answered. "Only be careful–he might still be out there."

Joe touched his gun lightly. "I hope so, Cupcake. I hope so."

…

The next few hours were a whirl of police procedure and investigation. Looking up from the defaced corpse to the crowd of police personal, Joe shook his head. "Christ, this is why I left Trenton in the first place," he moaned and focused again on Evelyn's body.

"I've known Evelyn most all my life," announced the medical examiner sadly. "Never knew her to have any enemies though."

"Most likely someone passing through…long gone–I hope."

"Yeah. You're probably right, and she being an older woman–someone saw the opportunity and took it…still, hate to see her like this." The Doctor paused a moment to examine Evelyn's hands. "Good thing you were on vacation," he remarked glancing in the direction of the Morelli home.

"Yeah, that's true," Joe agreed not wanting to think about what might have happened if his family had been home.


	23. Part 2 Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

Sitting in a Denny's restaurant off of interstate 81, Malcolm Fischer watched a group of teenage girls at the table next to him. One of them was particularly pretty in her short blue jean cutoffs and tight pink shirt with DKNY printed across the front. She had long blonde hair and big breasts. Every so often she jiggled her keys against the pink cat charm she had on her keychain. The girls were almost done eating and would probably be leaving soon. _The trick will be separating her from her friends,_ Malcolm reflected.

"It's been fun bitches, but I have to leave," Malcolm's mark said. "I have to drive to Levittown to pick up my stupid brother."

"Have fun," teased her girl friends.

"Bye Bye Bitches," she teased back in a catty tone and left.

Malcolm followed her out. "Excuse me, I couldn't help but hear that you are headed to Levittown. Well, it's probably too much to ask, but I'm supposed to meet some friends there, and my car died." He purposefully looked her over. "I don't suppose you're interested in doing some modeling. It's just that one of my friends–one of the people in Levittown, he supplies models for the couturier houses. Well, he's just beside himself trying to find a replacement for one of his models. She was supposed to model for DKNY next week, but she was in a bad automobile accident and can't make the show."

"DKNY…WOW…I'd do just about anything to model for DKNY."

Malcolm smiled. _Like taking candy from a baby, _he thought to himself. "In that case," he continued, "why don't you give me a lift to Levittown, and I'll introduce you to Michael. I'm sure that you are just what he is looking for. Oh, I guess I should ask–would you be willing to travel Paris and Milan?"

"Yes…oh, God. This is majorly great."

…

Malcolm was so busy convincing his mark to give him a ride to Levittown that he didn't see the man in the black suit staring at him across the parking lot. "Damn Psychopath," the field agent growled under his breath. "Going to get himself caught before he can accomplish his objective."

Ducking behind the cab of a silver Ford F-150, the agent pushed a few buttons on his cell phone. "Field Agent Smith here," he said quietly. "Malcolm Prescott Fischer is in need of immediate reprogramming. It will have to done while he's in the field."

Seconds later Malcolm's cell phone rang. He answered it and appeared to be listening for a few minutes. The field agent moved closer and watched Malcolm's eyes roll slightly and then change to a vacant look. He was no long interested in the blonde, but seemed eager to get on his way.

"Hey," yelled the girl, "where are you going? You promised to introduce me to your friend, Michael. What about the DKNY show? What about Paris and Milan?"

"It's Morelli's fault; it's always Morelli's fault…then and now," Malcolm told her.

"Who's the hell's Morelli?" she asked staring after his retreating back.


	24. Part 2 Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

Malcolm Fischer crouched down in his hiding place at the edge of Morelli's front yard. Thanks to the property appraiser's web site, he had indentified and then moved into one of the several bank owned properties located on the next street. His old PT Cruiser was tucked in the borrowed house's garage, and from the master bedroom window he could see into the hallway on the second floor of Morelli's house. _Yep, even better than I planned, _he mused. _I must be blessed…maybe God hates Morelli, too. _

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a car. A Bronze Hyundai Accent pulled into the driveway, and Stephanie Plum Morelli got out.

"Mom, you're home," he heard Morelli's kid yell as she ran to help her mother with the groceries. He watched them carry bags of groceries into the house. They left the car doors open with Stephanie's purse sitting on the front seat. Creeping along the shrubbery, Malcolm hurried to the Accent and grabbed the purse. He had just returned to his hiding place when mother and daughter came back to get the rest of the bags. He smiled. They were too busy chitchatting to realize that Stephanie's purse was gone.

A few minutes later Malcolm returned to what he now considered his house. "Jackpot," he whispered pulling out Stephanie's house keys with one hand and her cell phone with the other. The key chain even had her car's remote on it. "Yep, God must really hate Morelli," he whispered imagining himself as a divinely blessed avenging angel.

He spent the rest of the night reading her text messages. Several mentioned a Rick that her daughter, Belle was dating. According to the messages sent to Mary Lou, Morelli was nervous to the point of panic about his daughter dating this Rick. After a long look through the cell phone's photo gallery, Rick had a face, and Malcolm's plan was beginning to take shape.

…

"Okay, so you can't find your purse," Joe started, trying to remain calm in the face of Steph's hysterics. "Have you looked every place you went today?"

Stephanie nodded. "I even called the grocery store; although, I know I had it with me when I left there. My keys were in it. I couldn't have driven home without it."

"And you used your keys to open the house when you came home."

She thought for a moment and then shook her head. "No…actually Belle met me at the car and helped unload the groceries.

Joe stared at her. "So…the last time you had your purse, it was in the car? And you have your keys now, but no purse?"

"No, they're gone, too."

"Shit…so whoever has your purse has your keys."

Steph shrugged. "Sounds reasonable."

"Cupcake, whoever has those keys can get in this house."

Her eyes widened as she remember Mrs. Markovich's brutal murder. "Mrs. Markovich!"

"Yeah." Joe took out his cell phone.

"Who are you calling?"

"First, a locksmith to change all the outside locks and then RangeMan to install a security system."

"What about the car," Steph asked. "He could steal the car."

"Yeah…not really anything we can do about that except report it when it happens. At least, you and Belle will be safe."


	25. Part 2 Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

From his usual hiding place at the edge of Morelli's front yard, Malcolm Prescott Fischer watch a black Nissan Armada pull in to Morelli's driveway. Two men got out. "Rick," Malcolm whispered to himself as he pulled out Stephanie's nearly drained cell phone. A quick look at Rick's photo confirmed that the smaller of the two males was indeed _Rick_. Malcolm smiled. _God must really hate Morelli, _he reflected,_ things are just getting better and better_.

…

"They're here," yelled Belle jumping up from her chair by the window.

Joe watched Belle run to the door and fling herself into Rick's arms. _Whatever happened to playing hard to get, _he wondered shaking his head. To his credit, Rick kissed the top of her head and gently pushed her away. "I'm working," he explained to Belle as he glanced toward Tank.

Tank laughed scooping up Belle in his arms. "Yeah, and as her Godfather I get to hug her whenever I want, and…since I'm your boss, you have to watch."

Rick smiled at the teasing and then turned toward Joe. "Mr. Morelli, it is a pleasure to see you again."

"Is he always so polite?" Joe asked Tank.

"Yeah…especially when he wants something."

Joe scowled.

Tank laughed again. "Better tell him what you want before he gets the wrong idea."

"Sir…I would like to stay at your house until RangeMan can install the new security system. I promise that I will be no trouble…but I want–I need to…."

"Spit it out boy," Tank ordered.

"I need to…make sure that Belle is safe."

"Not your job," Morelli growled.

"Actually, since he _is_ part of RangeMan, it _is_ his job," Tank announced raising an eyebrow in Joe's direction. "Besides he's just about the best shot I have at RangeMan, and he's hell on the mats. I guarantee he is more than capable of being a security guard for your family."

"That's not the problem," Joe said looking pointed at Tank.

"No, I'm well aware of what you perceive as a problem, and I disagree. Rick's not a threat to Belle. If he was, he wouldn't be here…hell, he wouldn't be at RangeMan.

"Don't pay any attention to him," directed Stephanie as she swept into the room and hugged Tank. "It's all his youthful indiscretions. He's convinced they are coming back to haunt him. That and he thinks that every male is the ass he was."

Turning a deep shade of red, Morelli shrugged.

"Must be hell being a father," Tank said smiling. "Anyway…you need to show us around so that I can plan your system."

Joe nodded.

…

Morelli stared at Tank and Rick. He never knew that RangeMan was so efficient. Despite the difference in their ages, the two men seemed to work as one…in many cases, they knew what the other needed without even talking. Three hours later, Tank and Rick had been everywhere in his home, and he had no doubt that they knew more about his house than he did.

"Are you aware, Sir, that the upstairs bathroom window will not lock properly?" Rick wanted to know. "It could easily be lifted up and security breeched."

"No," admitted Joe.

Tank looked at Joe and smiled, "Sees things I don't see, too."

"We probably need to screw it shut, at least, until you can replace the window." Rick continued ignoring the compliment. "I can probably do that after Tank leaves, if you would like me too, Sir."

Joe nodded.

"Speaking of leaving, I need to get back to RangeMan." Tank closed his job folder and tucked the pen into its binder. "Tomorrow I'll bring Hector, and all the equipment we need for the job."

…

Malcolm was almost asleep when he heard voices at the front door. Shifting quickly, he turned where he could see the driveway. The large African-American man tucked himself into the driver's seat. The boy opened the Armada's back door and removed a large black duffle bag. Malcolm smiled as he watched Tank drive off leaving Rick. _Not long now, _he thought, once more imaging himself as God's avenging angel. _Besides, _he added silently, _it's Morelli's fault; it's always Morelli's fault._


	26. Part 2 Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

In his hiding place, Malcolm shifted restlessly. He had studied the information on Stephanie's cell phone until the charge was finally depleted. It was now just a matter of waiting for opportunity to amble by.

He didn't have to wait long. About 7:00 the Morelli's and Rick got in Joe's Green Jeep Compass and left. "Probably going to dinner," Malcolm chuckled quietly. _Desert's on me_, he thought relishing the plan emerging clearer and clearer in his mind. _Besides, it's Morelli's fault…it's always Morelli's fault...then and now._

Using Stephanie's keys, he opened her car and pushed the garage door remote. The automatic door lifted open, and Malcolm hurried inside. He quickly closed the garage door and turned on the light. Working through Stephanie's keys, he found the proper key–the key which opened the door between the garage and the house. _So I was right, _Malcolm smiled,_ the locksmith only changed the outside locks. For being the Montrose Chief of Police, Morelli really is quite stupid. He deserves this for being so stupid. I can't wait to see the surprise on his ugly face…especially when I play with his precious family. This will be good–this will be very, very good._

After a thorough trek through the house, Malcolm found the perfect hiding place. A nearly empty walk-in pantry supplied a perfect view of both the kitchen and, in the distance, the front door. Rooting around in the kitchen, he found a razor sharp fillet knife and then settled himself in the pantry to wait.

…

Stephanie Morelli came through the door first carrying a grocery bag full of ice cream and other goodies.

"I'll help you, Mom," Belle called joining her mother in the kitchen. She put out cookies and slices of cake on a large platter and then disappeared into the family room. Steph dished ice cream into large bowls and placed them on a tray. "I got this," Belle added as she returned to the kitchen, grabbed the tray of dished out ice cream, and quickly walked back into the family room. As Stephanie moved toward the refrigerator to put away the ice cream, she passed the not so empty pantry. In a split second Malcolm grabbed her and pressed the tip of the knife into her throat. Tiny drops of blood, like bright red tears, trickled from the blade and slowly meandered down her neck.

Holding her painfully tight against him with the knife still pricking her neck, Malcolm moved into the living room being careful to keep Steph in front of him.

Joe's eyes widened as he took in the horrifying scene in front of him. "What the hell?" he whispered drawing his gun.

"Put your gun down and push it toward me. You, too, boy," Malcolm snarled.

Pulling her along with him, he unwrapped his arm from Steph's waist and picked up Joe's gun. He released gun's the safety and pointed it at Belle. "Take those ropes holding the curtains open and tie their hands behind their backs…GO!" he yelled at Belle. "No ticks or your mother here dies," he added.

_Who the hell is this person? _Joe wondered, confused and anxious. His training told him to watch quietly and wait. _Maybe I can learn something–see an opening…anything._

The curtains flopped on each side as they were released leaving a wide gap between them. Joe kept his eyes focused on Malcolm while Belle bound his hands, but Rick turned his head and looked her directly in the eyes. "We'll get through this," he whispered. Putting his hands behind him, he pressed the two buttons hidden on his watch's face.

After checking Belle's knots to make sure that Rick and Joe were securely fastened, Malcolm pushed Stephanie in Belle's direction. "Now tie her," he hissed.

Belle did as instructed, all the while sneaking glances at Rick for encouragement.

…

"Rick Ramirez just activated his panic button and onboard microphone," Hal shouted to Tank.

"Is he still at the Morelli house?" Tank asked.

"Yes, earlier he tracked to a pizza place, but now he's back."

Tank removed his cell and tried to call Rick. The phone rang for a short while and then transferred to voice mail. He tried Morelli's number…voice mail again.

"Monitor that signal, and get Montrose Police Department on the line," Tank barked.

A few seconds later Tank picked up the phone in his office. "This is RangeMan security in Trenton. We have good reason to believe that Joe Morelli is in trouble and needs backup at his house ASAP."

Tank listened for a moment.

"No…this is _not_ a prank. Just send a car," he said trying to be patient.

"So…you're not going to do anything?" he continued shaking his head in disbelief.

"Load up," Tank yelled as RangeMan uniforms charged the parking garage and scramble into two black Nissan Armadas.

On the way, he called the New Milford Police Department but–not surprisingly–was politely informed that Montrose was out of their jurisdiction. Apparently, the only way that New Milford would become involved was if the Montrose PD called and requested help.

"Fucking bureaucratic bullshit," Tank growled in frustration. RangeMan was a good 150 miles away. He leaned back and closed his eyes. _Tap, tap, tap..._he could hear Hal's nervous drumming on the steering wheel. The image of Belle and Rick sitting together at the hospital floated into his head. They had their entire life ahead of them…at least, he hoped they did. Not much scared Tank, but the thought of losing them did. He swallowed down the fear. Fear, like anger, was an unproductive emotion. _It's going to be a long ride, _he thought. _It's going to be a hell of a long ride."_


	27. Part 2 Chapter 14

_**Dear Readers, please be aware that the next couple of chapters are not for "the faint of heart." If you have been with me throughout Part 2, you know what kind of monster Malcolm is. In these next few chapters…it **__**is**__** his show.**_

Chapter Fourteen

Malcolm looked at the three people tied in front of him. The small blood drops on Stephanie Morelli's neck had dried. Her eyes were wide with fear. He pointed Joe's gun at her. "You know, this just keeps getting better and better. I could pull this trigger right now, and the great Morelli's gun would kill his lovely wife.

"You are lovely, you know," he said touching Stephanie's face. He gestured toward Morelli. "I bet you're tired of that ugly shit. You're probably ready for a change."

"Let them go," Joe said as evenly as he could. "It's me you want…not them."

Malcolm grabbed Belle and pushed the gun into her temple. "Talk again, and I'll show you what her brains look like…or maybe I'll just blow her foot off. If blow her foot off, there will still be plenty of her to play with, and I love to _play_…and you're going to watch me play."

"You look hungry," said Rick unexpectedly. "I bet you'd like to eat the great Morelli's food, too…all that wonderfully sweet ice cream and cake…or maybe you'd like the cookies."

Suddenly, Malcolm's attention was diverted from Belle to the food. Between watching and waiting, he hadn't eaten all day. "Why not…bring me that tray of cookies and cake." He pushed Belle toward the food. "And bring that large bowl of ice cream, too."

…

Hector smiled.

"Report," barked Tank.

"El chico _(The boy)_ is playing for time…trying to convince the crazy man to eat."

Tank shook his head. They were still a long way from Montrose. "How much time will that buy us."

"Solo un poco _(Only a little)_…ice cream, cake, and cookies."

Their conversation was interrupted by Tank's cell phone. "Yeah."

Tank listened for a few minutes.

"How did you know?"

"I see."

"I put a watch on him…similar to the watch RangeMan had made for Stephanie Plum. He activated it 30 minutes ago."

Tank put his phone back in his pocket and shook his head. "Alano Ramirez and his wife are just behind us. Apparently, she woke him up early this morning, announced that Rick was in trouble, and they had to come help."

"How did she know?" Hal questioned.

Tank looked out the window considering how much to tell them. _Although, _he considered,_ the older men probably suspect that Rick is Ranger's son,_ _I have to protect Ranger's identity…his family. _He shrugged, "Mother's intuition–I guess."

…

Malcolm set down the half empty tray of goodies and smiled. "It's time for the entertainment." He looked at Joe, "You'll enjoy this first act…it's designed especially for you. In fact you could title it, _it's your fault; it's all your fault_."

He walked over and grabbed Stephanie by the hair and jerked her head back. Pushing the gun into the side of her neck, Malcolm looked at Joe. "Say it…say it's all your fault."

It's all my fault," Joe whispered watching Malcolm and still trying to figure out the motive. The whole time that Malcolm was eating, Morelli had been going over past felons in his mind…so far Malcolm didn't fit anywhere.

"I can't hear you, and if I can't hear you I'll have to…."

"It's all my fault," Joe said loudly.

"I think, maybe, it lacks conviction."

"It's all my fault," Joe said again tears streaming down his face. _It __is__ my fault, _Joe reflected. _Somehow, somewhere, I've dealt with this mad man…but where?_

Joe's thoughts were interrupted by Malcolm. "Ladies and gentlemen it is my privilege to introduce Act One…called _A Father's Nightmare._"

Malcolm shoved Belle toward Rick. "Get him on his feet."

Keeping eye contact with Belle, Rick stood.

"Move to the center of the room," Malcolm ordered. "Right in front of _Daddy_."

"Now undress him."

Joe watched Belle hands tremble as she unbuttoned Rick's shirt and dropped it on the floor. Wide eyed, she paused looking at the button and zipper on his jeans.

"Do it or I'll shoot your mother," Malcolm hissed.

Rick whispered something to Belle, and she continued. Slowly undoing his jeans, she slid them downward to the floor where they caught on his shoes. She frozen in place. Rick wore no underwear. Belle stared at him, obviously inexperienced at what she saw.

Morelli shifted anxiously. Joe watched Rick lean toward Belle and whisper something to her.

"Come on, hurry up, get him out of it," Malcolm growled, impatiently.

Moving the jeans to one side, Belle untied his shoes and using all her strength slid them off, followed by his socks and jeans.

"Good, now untie him." Belle moved behind Rick and glanced at Malcolm. The gun was still firmly planted in her mother's neck. She could see a purple-blue bruise starting under its pressure.

Slowly Rick brought his now free hands in front of him. He moved keeping until Belle was behind him.

Malcolm smiled. "Your turn Lover Boy…undress her."

Joe stirred nervously.

Watching Morelli's reaction, Malcolm added, "Slowly…undress her slowly. We don't want _Daddy_ to miss anything."

Rick turned toward Belle and keeping his eyes linked to hers, he gently pulled her shirt over her head.

"Slowly," Malcolm roared and pushed the gun harder. Stephanie whimpered involuntarily.

Rick nodded and whispered something to Belle. She closed her eyes. Joe watched the boy trace his fingers down Belle's neck to her bra. His fingers continued outlining the elastic's edge. Using his thumbs, he teased her nipples until they were hard.

Joe heard a low growl coming from his throat. He tried to ignore the show in front of him…tried not to give Malcolm the pleasure, but he couldn't.

Reaching between her breasts, Rick released the clasp and slowly pulled the bra from her body. Kneeling he kissed where the clasp was and leisurely continued downward. He ran his hands along the top of her jeans. Belle trembled.

Joe's growl grew louder.

Malcolm laughed. "Keep going boy…nice and slow."

Joe saw Rick take a deep breath and carefully unfasten Belle's jeans. Bit by bit, he slid her jeans downward and slipped the jeans and her sandals from her feet. Still on his knees, he gently caressed her legs. After a few moments, he slid his hands up her underwear, cupped her buttocks, and pulled her to him.

Rick glanced around her looking in the direction of the wall clock. _He's playing for time, _Joe realized and wondered why.

Rick kissed Belle's skin where the elastic and skin met. Taking a deep breath, He positioned his mouth on her panties breathing hot air into her pleasure zone. Gradually he slid her panties down. Belle shivered.

Joe felt his neck grow hot. His jaw tightened, and his teeth clenched. He forgot the wall clock. "I'm going to kill him," he growled.

Malcolm snorted, "That's just the introduction…wait until we get to the climax."


	28. Part 2 Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen

Alano Ramirez, AKA Ranger, glanced at his wife. Her eyes were closed. She was in a deep meditative state. Every now and then she would shudder and inhale suddenly.

"Talk to me," he whispered. "I'm his father, tell me what is happening."

Tori Ramirez, AKA Ashlyn, shook her head. "You have your job, and I have mine. You must concentrate on your driving. Their lives depend on it."

Alano sighed. He hated not being in control…he hated feeling like he could lose, and he really hated that it involved his son.

…

"Look at your father," Malcolm yelled at Belle.

Winding his arm around her, Rick gently turned her toward Joe.

"Tell her this is all your fault," Malcolm ordered.

Suddenly, Joe's anger was gone and intense guilt replaced it. _It is my fault, _his mind flashed, _It's my fault because the house wasn't secure enough. It's my fault because I didn't do a security sweep before we came in tonight. It's my fault because I can't figure out who this maniac is. _

"Say it," Malcolm roared.

"This is all my fault," Joe said tears streaming down his face.

"Tell her you are to blame."

"I'm to blame."

Turning to Rick, Malcolm smiled. "Take her."

Rick stare at him.

"I said Fuck her…or I'll kill her mother." Malcolm ground the gun deeper into Stephanie's neck.

"Do what he says…please," Belle whispered, voice shaking.

Slowly Rick turned back to her. Joe watched as the boy gathered her to him and then whispered something in her ear. Belle responded with a nod.

Gently Rick kissed her mouth, gradually deepening the kiss.

"Enough with the kisses, I said FUCK HER," Malcolm yelled.

Taking a deep breath, Rick looked Belle in the eye. As gently as he dared, considering they were under Malcolm's watchful eye, he push himself into her.

Belle flinched and whimpered in pain.

Joe closed his eyes. He could still see them in his mind except that it was no longer Belle and Rick he saw; it was behind the counter of that pastry shop…he was with Stephanie. He heard her whimper the same little whimper of pain he heard from Belle. He watched as the Joe in his mind ignored her pain and slammed into her…over and over and over. He watched the tears of anguish run down Steph's face, and he watched a young Joe pull up his pants and move on without even a backward glance at the young woman he had so brutally violated.

Joe choked back a sob and opened his eyes.

Rick was moving slowly in and out of Belle. Belle's eyes were focused on her mother. Rick's jaw was clenched tightly and eyes were closed. Tears streamed from his eyes and ran down his face. A tiny bit of Belle's blood coated his shaft.

"Faster," Malcolm roared.

Trying not to increase his penetration, Rick increased his pace.

"Do it boy, or her mother dies!" Malcolm yelled.

Rick leaned over and whispered something to Belle. She nodded. Using her body, he quickly brought himself to climax.

"Look at Morelli…look at your father," Malcolm shouted in a frenzy.

"Tell her…tell her it's your fault."

Joe looked at her, tears running freely down his face. "Belle, honey I'm so sorry, it is my fault; it's all my fault. Oh, God, Cupcake, please forgive me."

Malcolm violently pushed Stephanie to the floor and moved in front of the backyard window. "Now, Ladies and Gentlemen behold Act 2," he announced.

A gunshot pierced the air, and Malcolm slumped to the floor dead. A few seconds later Tank followed by Ranger burst through the front door guns drawn.

Rick quickly wrapped his shirt around Belle and pulled his own pants back on. Tank felt Malcolm for a pulse and looking at Ranger and Joe shook his head. Hector seemed to produce a long thin knife from the air and freed Joe and Stephanie.

Oblivious to everyone in the room except his son, Ranger grabbed the boy by the shoulders and looked him directly in the eyes. "Did you hurt her?" he demanded.

"Yes, Sir…I did," Rick answered tears rolling down his face.

Ranger drew his hand back to strike the boy.

"No…he didn't," declared Belle. "He saved my Mom by doing what that monster made him do. He saved my Mom."

Ranger stared from her to Stephanie and finally drop his fist. Shaking his head he moved away from them.

Rick glanced at the broken window and then the front door. "Who shot the psychopath?" Ranger, Tank, and Joe looked at each other. Tank gave a signal and several RangerMan employees disappeared into the backyard.

…

Two streets over Agent Smith quickly packed up his Remington 700 police rifle and got in his car. His consumable, Malcolm Prescott Fischer, had not achieved his objective. Even so, thanks to a well place bullet, the company would suffer no threat of exposure. All in all, the mission was a success…by company standards. He smiled. Not that it would have suffered anyway…there were always special operatives to induce an "unfortunate" suicide and a flock of press agents to report it. Still, tying up your own loose ends was always a career boost for a federal field agent.

Smith's thoughts were interrupted by his cell phone. He listened for a few seconds.

"Yes, Sir. The program was terminated before the arrival of the civilian security company."

He paused.

"Yes, Sir. I'm leaving now."

…

Ranger walked toward Joe with his hand extended. "I'm Rick's father, Alano Ramirez. You must be Joe Morelli."

"Yes," answered Joe.

Ranger leaned in to shake Joe's hand and whispered, "The safety of my family depends on you."

"It's nice to finally meet you," Joe remarked and then whispered a warning to Stephanie. "This is my wife, Stephanie."

Stephanie shook Ranger's hand and looked into his eyes. "It is a pleasure to meet you. Rick is such a…." She stopped not really knowing where to go with her statement.

"Yeah," said Ranger. "I don't know whether to break his jaw for hurting your daughter or congratulate him for keeping his head in an impossible situation."

"Tell me about it," Joe admitted with a sigh. "I don't know whether to demand they get married or throw him out of the house."

Ranger looked at Rick and Belle.

Rick's arms were securely around her, and he was whispering something in her ear. She shivered occasionally and nodded.

"The first option might be easier to do than the second," Ranger observed.

Their conversation was interrupted by a beautiful blonde. "I should think after all they have been through the answer to that question is obvious. Let them develop their friendship and see where, if anywhere, it grows."

Stephanie and Joe watched Ranger's face light up. It was his full-on, high-beam, million dollar smile.

"Mr. and Mrs. Morelli," he interjected, "as usual the voice of reason, my wife, Tori."

Grabbing Stephanie's hand, Tori gently pulled her toward the kids. "Come on, we've got some TLC to dispense."

Joe and Ranger watched Tori and Stephanie fold their arms around the still embracing kids.

"Guess that's what you call a group hug," Joe observed.

Ranger smiled. "Knowing my wife, that's what you call magic."

"Yeah, I can see that." The men continued to watch as Stephanie and Tori gently maneuvered the kids toward the stairs.

Joe turned away from them and surveyed the room. "Please excuse me," he added nodding his head toward Malcolm's body. "I have some cleaning up to do."


	29. Part 2 Chapter 16

Chapter Fourteen

"Do you want me to wake him?" asked Tori standing at the doorway.

Stephanie looked in her daughter's room. Belle was under the covers with Rick lying on top of the covers holding her gently. They both were sleeping peacefully. "No…she needs her sleep. I don't image this nightmare will be easily forgotten."

"No, it won't be."

"Mom?" Rick whispered.

"Yes."

"Why didn't I know…why didn't I see this before hand? Why couldn't I stop it."

Tori glanced at Stephanie before answering. "Sometimes we're not meant to know…some things have to happen. We can't stop them. Maybe we don't see them because we're not suppose to stop them."

"That sucks."

"Yeah, it does."

"See things?" Stephanie asked moving away from the doorway.

"Didn't Rick tell you…Rick and I both have second sight. Sometimes we know things before they happen. That's why Alano and I are here. That's how I knew Rick was in trouble."

"You're a psychic?"

"Yes."

"Rick said that you had an online business, but he didn't say what it was."

"I sell products made with essential oils…creams, soaps, things like that. That is what I _do_. A psychic is what I _am_."

She reached out to gently touch Stephanie's arm.

"I saw a lot of what happened…as it happened. You both need time to heal, as does Rick. He loves Belle, and she loves him."

"Puppy love."

Tori looked at the kids and smiled. "No…it's definitely not puppy love. I believe you and I are destined to become very good friends. Some day we might even share a grandchild or two."

Steph looked at Belle serenely enclosed in Rick's arms. "You know, I think I'd like that."

…

Later that evening as Tank and the team prepared to return to RangeMan, Stephanie informed Joe that the Ramirez family would be sleeping in the spare room for what she hoped would be a few days. "Belle needs to feel safe and loved so she can heal; right now, Rick helps her feel that." Steph squared her shoulders and prepared for the fight that would probably ensue.

Joe closed his eyes. The image of Rick and Belle floated in front of him. He heard Malcolm yelling _Fuck Her_. He saw the tears rolling down Rick's face and watched as the boy tried his best not to cause Belle anymore pain he had to. Rick didn't want to hurt Belle. In a way, Rick hadn't raped Belle, the prep had. The boy was a good kid, and Joe knew that he had to give Rick a chance–a chance to make things right, naturally, under his watchful eye. "Of course, they will be welcome…all of them," he said meaning every word.

…

The next day the kids seemed content to stay inside the house and away from any windows. By the afternoon Ranger AKA Alano was concerned. "Does Belle usually stay indoors in the summer time?" he asked Joe.

"Nope…usually I can't even keep up with her…jogging, walking, swimming…last summer she made me take her horseback riding."

"Maybe they just need a little encouragement."

A few minutes later, Belle and Rick went for a short walk followed by a security team of Ranger and Joe.

"Do you remember what I asked just before…? Rick whispered to Belle.

She nodded. "You asked me not to judge the love a man gives to a woman by that…."

Rick smiled.

"You also asked me to let you show me how wonderful it can be…someday, when I'm ready."

"That's right…when you're ready." He kissed the top of her head gently. "Someday–when you're ready–I'll show you how much I love you."

"I might not be ready for a long time."

"I'll wait," he promised.

…

Joe glanced at Ranger for about the third time since they started walking.

"Is there something you want to ask me…something that I can answer without jeopardizing my situation."

"Yeah…," Joe cleared his throat awkwardly. "When Rick was…he appeared…he seemed pretty experienced for his age."

Ranger shrugged. "If you mean the kind of experienced I think you mean, I don't know where he would have gotten it. We live at a combat training camp, and he is home schooled. He's surrounded by males…believe me, he has had no opportunity. The sum total of what he knows came from questions he asked Tori and I."

"What kind of questions."

Ranger chuckled. "Most of those questions came after a new recruit boasted about how many women he had raped during his stint in the Middle East. Unfortunately, his audience was my ten year old son. Needless to say, the new recruit was dealt with, but when Tori found out what Rick had heard, she informed the boy in very clear terms exactly what rape was like from a woman's point of view." He took a deep breath, "It was brutal."

"And, Rick got the message?"

"Oh, yeah…he was furious. He wanted to know how I could do something like that to his mother. It took me the rest of the evening to convince him there was a difference between showing a woman how much you love her and brutalizing her."

"It took that long."

Ranger laughed quietly at the memory. "He wanted details and a complete description–wouldn't accept anything else…in the end I told him what he wanted to know.

"Which was?"

"How to make love to a woman."

"Anyway, I made him promise to talk with me before he utilized his new knowledge."

Joe looked at the kids in front of them. "You think they'll do it again?"

Ranger took a long look at his son. Sharp emotional pain coupled with a huge amount of shame rolled off of the boy. "Probably…not for a long time, though. He was forced to hurt Belle in a way that he swore he would never hurt any woman. I taught him to value his honor–to base his self-respect on it. He probably feels pretty destroyed about now. No…like Belle, it'll be a few years before he will be ready to take that step." Ranger turned toward Joe. "You do know that my son is no threat to your daughter…he loves her."

Joe looked at Ranger and then stared at the kids for a few minutes. "Yeah…I don't like that they're so young, but I can see their love starting to grow. I'm just not sure I like it."

"Don't worry, we'll be on watch for a while yet. Besides that, he goes back to Canada in two days.


	30. Part 2 Chapter 17

Chapter Fifteen

Colonel Thomas Rutford scanned through his E-mail. There were two new attachments sent by Field Agent Alan Smith. The first file was labeled _Programming Research: Malcolm Prescott Fischer_. Rutford scanned through the file's contents. It was a detailed account of experiments performed on a consumable named Fischer…including the use of various unauthorized hallucinogens and rather vicious brainwashing techniques. "Christ," he hissed, "how do they get permission to do this shit." Shaking his head, he moved the file to its proper folder.

The second file was labeled _Potential Special Ops Recruit: Rick Ramirez_. Colonel Rutford scanned the file. _Yeah, _he thought, _the boy appears to have talent, but he's a Canadian Citizen. Canada's pretty tolerate, but they don't like their citizens poached. It might be different if this Rick was an adult, then we could trump up something to cover the recruitment…drug trafficking usually works. _

Rutford reached for his coffee cup and glanced at the photo on his desk. His grandson, Brent was posed with his soccer ball–a big smile on his face. Making a quick decision, the colonel hit the delete button on his computer, and the Rick Ramirez file disappeared. "Damn computer…must have been a clerical error," he said.

…

Joe Morelli leaned back in his chair and stretched. The past month he had spent all his leisure time researching Malcolm Prescott Fischer. He knew everything about the man…everything from who his parents were to his last arrest record. He knew everything about Malcolm, that is everything except why the man hated ex-Trenton cop Joe Morelli enough to target him and his family.

"Any luck?" Jim asked.

"Nope, I don't get it. Malcolm Prescott Fischer was in Trenton the same time I was, but I was never his arresting officer. In fact, I was never involved in any case that dealt with him." Joe shook his head. "Why me? Why my family?"

"Probably won't ever know," Jim shrugged. "Maybe he spent prison time with a fan of yours."

"Yeah, maybe."

"Better call it a day…the man's dead. He can't hurt you or yours now."

Joe nodded, just glad that Belle and Stephanie were still alive. "Yep…I think I'll go home early–spend some time with my family.

…

_A couple of months later._

Stephanie Morelli leaned against the doorframe to Belle's room. She lifted her coffee mug and took a long leisurely drink. Belle was sitting in front of her computer with her French book and notebook to one side. Her soft voice struggling to pronounce something in French.

"What's up, Cupcake?" asked Joe stealing her mug for a sip.

"She's skyping with Rick."

"I thought we agreed–only on the weekends."

"That was before her failing French grade."

"Wait a minute…she fails French, and you reward her by letting her skype?"

"He's teaching her French…listen."

Rick's voice rang out in perfect French.

Belle answered in soft hesitating French.

"Très bien, vous pouvez me l'écrire, s'il vous plait? _(Very good, can you write it down for me, please.)_

Belle opened her notebook, wrote in it, and held it up for Rick to see.

"The French teacher says her grades are already improving, and…."

"And?"

"She's been invited to stay with Tori and Alano in Canada this summer. She promised to teach Rick algebra, and he promised to take her to Montreal."

Joe frowned.

"Don't worry…we've been invited too."

"I can't take the summer off."

"Of course not, but we can spend your vacation time there…if you want."

"You mean I don't have to visit your mother?" Joe smiled. Things were starting to look better and better.

"I'll take some day trips to see her…maybe stay overnight once or twice; but no, I don't think that we need to do that again–not for now anyway."

_The End_

_**Thank you for reading In the Wind. I hope that you enjoyed the story. Also, I want to send a big thanks to Julie and Carol for reviewing the story, private messaging me, and sticking with me.**_


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